[ Kim's eyes narrow at the question, bald-faced as it is, as obvious as the answer seems to him -- but then he glances behind him at the door, as solidly locked as it's ever been. There's no use in getting upset over it. Midnight may seem like he's just making conversation, but surely he's trying to get out of here, the same as Kim is. Although, Kim notes bitterly, he's not the one having to talk about painful memories, no matter how small. And it is small. Just the first of many offenses, meaningless in the long run.

So instead of taking offense, he just sighs quietly and gets on with it. ]

I suppose that's what it's going to take, isn't it? Fine. No, of course it didn't. It was a foolish notion. [ His lip quirks upwards. ] In my defense, I was nine at the time.

[ He slips the trinket back in his pocket, wondering briefly if Midnight is speaking from experience. ]

It doesn't matter how you act, or how you were raised. The only thing that matters is how you look. My countrymen will "welcome to Revachol" me until the day I die. [ He shrugs. ] I've made my peace with that, whatever this place may have to say about it.

[ They chose it because it would hurt, but Kim isn't nine anymore, he thinks to himself, stubborn as ever. They're going to have to try harder than this. ]