Conor looked over at him, not really trusting the words, though he definitely believed that last part. He actually hadn't minded when they first met, he'd been in a dark place in his own head, and was more willing to put up with being tested or hurt. He'd even craved it, at first. Some things tended to lose meaning when you were pretty much immortal, and he'd heard it said that pain let you know that you were alive. And it did, up to a point. After said point, it just hurt.
"Thank you," he said at last, flexing his free hand unconsciously, the one Byron had broken. "I didn't know how much I could take, I guess, and then I suppose I got a bit panicky."