[ there's a biting reply just on the tip of his tongue, something curt and probably a bit mean, but he chooses to sit on it rather than speak. he clearly doesn't know all the details of this meeting or what had transpired; even if he asked, he wonders if it would paint enough of something to figure out what it is dorian didn't see. doubtful, if he's being realistic, and that tells larus that the only way to know for certain is to find this grayson frost and work it out himself.

it's oddly nostalgic how hard this conversation is hitting him too, having had many similar ones in the past—mostly with casimir. a bargain struck with someone unknown, no information aside from a careless whim. he should think better of people and their ability to take care of themselves, but life has taught him that it's always a work-in-progress. ]

Did you ever stop to consider that having those options wasn't necessary? This city likes to hand out everyone's secrets as gifts, but they're still very particular. No one's allowed in these rooms unless you give them permission either. [ needless to say, that's pointing to the sole fact dorian only has to trust himself with the people he sees and decides to bring back.

larus takes a moment to smooth his fingers over his knee, having felt them curling tight into a fist. he sighs. ] I'm not your keeper, Dorian, so it shouldn't matter what I think. But you should be careful. I hope you know what you're doing.

[ everything about this leaves a bitter taste sitting in the back of his throat. ]