The gravity of sharing the memory of his death weighed down on his mind. He stared silently at her, almost guiltily. If he told her, she would receive an Echo of the same, wouldn't she?

It was the memory of the werewolf who attacked the Golden Hour again. His gut answer was a snappy "nothing", but he held it back and instead pressed his palm against the base of his throat.

"You were involved," he finally said, nervously watching her fingers. "If I tell you, I think-- I think you'll remember."