The words fall one after another like blows - unrelenting, unflagging. He's left nearly staggering under their intensity. He's left dizzy and miserable. What is he to say? What can he say? He feels torn in two. God, why did he come here? Why did he think he could endure this?

Because he has to. Because he must. Because his job isn't just to maintain his cover. His job is to protect her in every way he is able. A Vor's service is not just in body; a Vor's service is in soul. He can hold nothing back if it means her well-being, not even in his self-loathing, not even in his defensiveness.

And so, eyes pressed shut, chest tight, he whispers just three words: "It was real."