Looking that makes you sick. [ Will's tone is contemplative, and thin for it — stretched under the burden of what he's discussing. ] I've got— some idea about what that's like. [ His job, staring into people who've killed. An endless abyss of cruelty that stares right back at Will and reaches for him with angry hands.

—And here she is, looking willing to do it. Will notices the lack of lines on her face, how young she looks. ] Which means I've got— some idea about how bad of an idea this might be, but...

[ But. Will stays with his hand pressed against the glass. ] Is there anything I could do to— help you?