Martin stared, looking confused right away at being compared to anyone at all. It was in the context of Darkovs, of course, and he thought there was no way nobody could be at all like one like him. Not what she meant, of course, and that was plain as she went on.

Her forced grin was a little knife in his gut, twisting guilt further in. She was too kind. Didn't she know how bad it was to be kind to him — even now? After Robin—

It just gave him the horrid vision of her mangled in some awful way, all within reach, but ultimately unsaved. Just like always. Worse, what if it was like the Byzantine? What if he'd be lifting his hand to—

"You'll get hurt," he insisted, trying to talk over his noisy thoughts. "Or killed. I can't...I don't...want that. But every time something goes wrong, I make it worse and people just..."