Anger is as good as sorrow: the spirit persists right up until Sorrel puts his hands up and the flame rises in his palms. Right until it washes through the place where the spirit is pretending to stand, because as thin as the veil is, it hasn't torn open. There's nothing there on this side but a spirit pretending to scream and scorch, to try and wring one last horror out of Adasse, and then its gone.

"...I did not do it that hot, you over-dramatic wisp, what a load of—" He's still angry, despite the adrenaline of the moment, "—I'm sorry, 'Dasse, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that, anger isn't any better than fear. If I keep feeding them, they'll only come back, this whole situation is... just..."

He's so busy being annoyed that it's only just then that Sorrel looks up at Adasse's face, sees his expression and reaches out to draw him in again.

"...You're so brave, Adasse. You did so well."