She takes his denial in stride, no flicker of ego bruising in her eyes.

If she were planning on turning him in, she probably would've searched his room already. But she's not, and frankly digging through his laundry is the sort of task she's just not that keen on bothering with if the job doesn't necessitate it. After twenty years you can afford to cut the occasional distasteful corner--hopefully not the famous last words they sound like. She leans onto her elbows, hands loosely clasped in the air before her with a sense of mingled finality and commencement. Now they are come to the real business of this meeting.

"From now on, you work for the Inquisition, in earnest. For me. Send what you like back to Denerim, but if you attempt to undermine our work I will make sure you never do yours again. Do we have an understanding?"