"Fenhedis, you noticed?" And he'd been trying so hard not to give away the tenderness in his half-flayed foot. He doesn't care what she says; the question is more to give himself time to consider his response than to really find out what gave him away.

"Mission got fucked," is where he lands eventually, spoken to the ceiling, "Venatori got us."

No one told him he can't tell the truth about it. Besides, sympathy is useful. He flicks his eyes over to Astrid, exhausted but keen, waiting for what she'll make of it. She's not going to trip over herself with apologies or concern, he doesn't think—she rings too close to his own people for that. She'll move to the practical, how did it happen, how did they escape, did they lose anyone. Sympathetic, but not weepy about it.

Or maybe he doesn't know a damn thing about her and she'll surprise him.