There's a long, long silence there. Not a condemnation, not with the furrow in his brow that ever since he was small was a sign that he's thinking very hard about his words. Fitting them together in a way that'll make sense outside of his head.

It's hard to reconcile this with the knot of emotions that had gotten twisted up the further they'd gone on this path. There was a time where being apologized too would have fixed everything. But after all he saw - is there one person to blame? Can Capochin take it on his shoulders?

Whatever fury and frustration there were, it was always going to be tempered. Because there were still hands that tucked blankets around him, that patiently explained time and again that he couldn't pickpocket anymore, that fed him, kept him warm. Didn't get angry when he came home injured - only worried that he'd get sick, that he'd lose the eye. It's hard to think of hands like that wanting to rip open the Rift and turn everything upside down.

"...Okay. I forgive you."

Because in the end, they didn't do it. In the end, they stopped. In the end, it was still Capo, under everything - it was still Hector, in the heart of the being called Inspekta.

"You didn't blow it, Capo. The world's still here. So're you. So's Hector. So'm I."