He doesn't look away, and he doesn't balk. Doesn't, even for a second, look like he's considering how to get out of a mandate so childish she knows she'll be disgusted with herself for it later, even if she'll hold on to like it is the only thing that will let her breathe. Because of this most of all.

The way he just nods.
He just says, I promise.

She doesn't think she has any idea what she's capable of doing if someone hurt Luther. The man staring at her with such capability to hope even in the darkest, deepest hurt. Or the boy somewhere in there, still giving in to her every demand, like she asked all his allowance for a gift and not a minute-by-minute traffic report on every single step of his free will.

And he just gives it up. Which only hurts more. That he doesn't fight.
Only presses harder on that bruise under her sternum. Why didn't he tell her, then.

Words. Words are just gone. She's not even certain she'd have them if she had her voice. It's a wrinkle in her expression, set as it is. When she nods, too. She just mirrors him a little too completely without realizing it. Nods, even if her brow is knitted.

Okay.