[ He shrugs, idle, like this is all just normal conversation, like it was something that could just be spoken of, and he might never... except that it is all in his file. There's no point in pretending otherwise, and he doesn't have the energy of it. ]

They tortured me, for months and months, after they killed her. Accused me of the crime and burned me over and over to try and have me admit I did it. I refused... [ another sip, contemplating, and he has done too much of it. There was nothing else to do in that cell. In the long hours tucked up in the Hound Pits between missions. Just the river and the void and him. Slumped over and quiet. ] ... the grief became my only weapon against it. I used it, because it was the only thing left to me.

[ and it's not the answer she's looking for, but it is the only he one he has. the only thing he had to make the time passed easier. ]