His sister was correct. She was always correct but never entirely right, and that in itself served as an overwhelming source of nostalgia. Nigredo had not spoken with her since... Since? A knot formed at the base of his neck; the once subdued migraine flared anew. His eyes closed momentarily, giving the impression of careful analysis.

"I was careless," answered Nigredo quietly, "and I made mistakes." Far too many mistakes, if she wanted specifics. "Could we please drop the subject?" And return to the more critical topics, such as her presence.

Except Citrine was not making this easy. Once upon a time, he might have humored her and offered an answer in half-hearted agreement, but the recent events had shaped an altogether different outlook. In that, the boy understood, perhaps for the first time in years. What he had proposed to Rubedo in the beginning of their stay and had acted upon later only served to escalate. Besides, Nigredo simply couldn't stay away altogether, couldn't be what Albedo had feared. That would be doing the unthinkable.

He locked eyes with Citrine. "No," he said, tone clear and solid. "I'm not leaving my own brothers. Besides, you must be aware such a request is impossible at night." The last remark was a calculated move, to see precisely how much his sister was comparable to the description from I.R.I.S.