Using a Templar's abilities against the Veil's thinness now would be akin to holding a shield up to a hurricane. Silas knows because he tried it, the first time he saw something slip across his field of vision—and it worked, but there was another in its place just as quickly. But the instinct to try still kicks, and doubly so when he sees them getting the best of the man in the courtyard.

He resists it. More helpful—probably?—is ducking out of the door and into the icy wind to go after him.

"Hey," he says, folding his arms to keep his ungloved hands warm. Closer up, he recognizes him, if only by reputation. He's pretty sure the fellow used to outrank him. So when he crouches down a few feet away, he adds, "Ser. They're only spirits. No use freezing over them."