The tension shifts to Roland instead - but it's not one made out of discomfort. He feels his chest constrict, like his heart is being made to beat faster, and faster still. As Inigo carefully drifts into sleep, the blanket cocooning him on constant warmth, the last words his consciousness whispers are not lost on the chief consul. The effect is instantaneous. He feels like he's going to tear up, eyes moistening, blinking them away but failing to catch a drop or two from falling against his shoulder as he turns away.

Roland's arms hug Inigo tighter. He doesn't deserve such a chance. He doesn't deserve this purity. And yet, he knows no matter what, he'll never let go of it. He'll never leave them.