"Oh," began Edward. He cleared his throat, his eyes darting. He shifted on his feet, inundated by his own thoughts. She was watching him, he knew. She was analyzing him. He had so little weaponry against her right now, in this room. She was thinking of what to do with him.

She had to be.

"Is it relevant?" He glanced over at her again, this time keeping his gaze straight. "My day, I mean." There was a tightness in his chest, a gripping. Iron and cold and insatiable. He took a few breaths, his palms flat on the desk before him as he pretending to peruse a debriefing. It wasn't going to be enough to throw someone as apt as Max Gibson, he knew, but his effort was instinctive.

"I don't need to talk about it," he said. Breaking the glacier between them. "If that's what you mean. I haven't -- I haven't had a bad episode in a long while."