One does not have to explain himself in the face of something impossible to just get over, no matter the time. He's perfectly alright.

[Dorian relaxes, but only slightly—there's no telling what else this place can throw at him, upset him again, and if possible, more. That's the last thing he wants for him, and he doesn't trust himself entirely not to He takes a breath and gathers his thoughts while smoothing By's collar.]

We need to leave. I'm sure if we think of something hard enough, something back there, open one of these to a way back. You know the bar, where I took you when you arrived? We can go there, I'll order you a—

[And, like Byerly, Dorian is interrupted by his own voice, across the hall. It isn't an unfamiliar sound—overwhelmingly angry, disbelieving, and loud. The other is deeper, older, and defensive.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out until you tied me to a chair?! Tell me, father, would they use your blood or mine? Or someone else's, because Magister Pavus can't get his hands dirty!"

"That is enough, Dorian."

Dorian's fingers curl tighter around the fabric, ruining his efforts.]

Or we can play at the plaza, or...