He was weary. He was uncomfortable. He was not in the best of spaces to abide games. Elias pushed the pen away from him with the backs of his fingers and sat back in his chair. He had a mind to apologize to Fee for having taken her time and to leave.
But there was the matter of Charlie. And her little man. If he had been the only one -- if it had been only himself and a handful of strangers, it would have been different. But it was Charlie. Why he felt so driven to protect the girl, he didn't know. But. He. Must. If that meant staying when he otherwise would have left, then so be it.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he ignored Fee's challenge altogether. If she didn't want to talk about her connection to Karin, then he would not press. But the rest had to be addressed. Elias ground out softly, "The stories belong to those who gave them to me," he said. "And it is not for me to divulge their details any further than I have already. But I will tell you that they were all in the lobby that night." Dropping his hand, he looked across the table at Fee. "And as with Karin, I will tell you the things that I experienced myself. Flashes of memory that was not my own. Glances of an... entity... in the aftermath of my own visual attack.
"But you came here because you also have something to tell. What is it, Fee?"