It takes him a long moment to answer, to think through it. It's not that the tremors have ceased, or that the voice no longer affects him - he thinks it will tear through him, every time Evru says his name like a plea. It does, and each time he bows his head with it, quiet though it may be.

"He is my burden to bear."

There's a heavy certainty to his voice when he says it, squeezing her shoulder almost too tightly.

"I cannot ask you to carry it for me." Not when her own grief hangs around her neck like a stone, plainly visible - he can see the glint of the faint light off of her eyes, when he glances up towards her. A parent's grief, intermingled with their child's. He's seen it, twisted in all its forms enough to recognize it here. Whatever she needs he cannot give it - but he need not be another burden, in his grief. He has done so much of that, already.