[L goes down easily; his recent efforts at taking better care of himself, becoming more substantial, more of a force to reckon with, are unpracticed and inconsistent and require much more than spurts of earnest effort to achieve lasting results. He's still willowy and frail, and for the first time since setting foot in the room, something lights up his dark, empty eyes. Wariness, fear, and certainly shock.

He wrenches his eyes away from the screen after he's seen the same stubborn answers. He speaks quickly and softly.]

My friend's funeral is tomorrow. His death was a direct result of Albero's actions. You've made your point, and I am truly sorry that this happened to you... but everything is escalating, and even if you're angry, and you resent the hell out of me, this has to end.

[He's aware of the barely-restrained rage that he can feel in Cesar's tensed muscles that are in direct control of his grip. He's aware that he should be making hurried promises to back off the second he's free.

No one has ever accused him of possessing profound wisdom.]