He had grown accustomed to being embraced by Caleb and Mollymauk, soft and unimpeded by sharp edges and hard lines that came from armor. Even Jester – while tight – was soft.

The metal clicking against each different plate drew his ears before the arms were pulling him in, tight against unmoving planes of metal. But underneath it was all the softness, the affection of his brother that hadn’t been so easily shed in…decades, he was sure. Maybe longer.

There was a half-shuddering breath, something wet with a swallowed sob, and he embraced Verin. Concern over assassins, over Hell using this as a punishment or a trick, were disregarded as soon as they came; he did not know how much he needed this until it was here.

“That is not far from the truth,” he said back in Undercommon. “Why are you here?