It hurts, a little, to meet Vrenille's eyes and see the pain there. However strange it might sound it doesn't really matter when compared to the fact that what Vrenille is saying is real. How he feels about it is genuine.

He knows the name Carver. He can even picture the man, snarling in the cell next to him, feral and armored and locked so deeply inside of himself that he clearly hoped no one would be able to reach him. He knows he's important, and little more, but he does know.

He looks over at the crates. "Why'd he come?" he asks, willing to listen. To remember, too.