Taught to watch and listen with care, Jericho didn't miss the meaning behind the bit of slumping, the look of worry and unease. It was starkly different from what he'd seen in the fight, but...that's how it had to be, maybe? Raven was a good person, truly, but knew how to level that with what needed to be done to help people.

...She didn't kill anyone, though. Jericho's eyes winced a little with his own doubts, having to break the stare to look away. His pencil tapped against the page a couple times, not offering any help as to what to say in reply. Just more little grains of graphite dusting the surface. When he did write, he was slower, dragging out some letters more than he needed to in order to give himself time to think. Here and there he stopped, half-turning the pencil to erase, half of the time not even following through, shaking his head as he went. One big, heavy breath and a shrug of his shoulders and he was ready to sit up and tilt the page to be read:

I guess I don't really know. I'm not as smart about things as I wish I was. I'm worried it's maybe something that'll make you do bad things.