Kaz tires of these attempts in their redemption. He's lucked out by some random happenstance, not being subjected to one in awhile. But today that streak seems to have come to an end as he's roughly shoved into the room by a demon. He yanks himself out of his grip, clearly more displeased by being touched than anything Lucifer has said.

He click-clacks his way over to the remaining empty chair in the room, cane both necessary and aesthetic. "Almost a year, myself," he answers the other man's question easily enough because, as truths go, it's an easy one. "I think. I'm... two months shy of it." Saints. A year in this place.