He sighs as the healing spell washes over him. He never felt anything like it until he started working with the Thieves. A temporary luxury.

He still doesn't want to get up, though. "He'll incriminate me. 'Yes, I'm awful, I even forced a kid to kill people and mindfuck them, I deserve to be taken out back and shot.' That's the last thing I need. And if anything happens to him, the whole Conspiracy will be looking for me. To make me kill people nonstop until I fall over and die. Or sell me to a trafficker, or keep me for themselves. Depends on who finds me. Open season."

His voice is hollow. His gaze has lost focus; he's gone somewhere else.