It wasn't a question at all. Although she had to admit, Ariadne had found it to be a little bit of a frustration. She was so starved for stories, starved for anything changing or new or exciting. When he first appeared, she'd entertained heady dreams of the two of them talking at all hours of the night, him sharing his world with her, her sharing parts of hers.

But it hadn't happened.

She'd dropped a few hints here and there. Asked a few questions.

He hadn't broken.

And so she'd dismissed it as him being a private person. Maybe in time he'd learn to open up.

Ariadne hadn't imagined that time coming so suddenly.

"I take it," she said slowly, "you come from a place where trust has been betrayed. Maybe a few too many times."