The flat felt oddly silent after she said that. The ambient sounds of London--traffic, passersby, neighbours--either quieted, or Brother just failed to hear them. Before the pain of Flemeth's counterattack had overwhelmed him to a point of numbness, he'd thought that he'd endured the most pain anyone ever could. He was wrong, because now he was feeling it.
She was in front of him. Her hand on his knee had, until a moment ago, been a comforting touch, but now, with images of her hands on Zevran's body flooding his traitorous mind, the hand was agonizing. He searched for something to say, some way of making things right and fixing it and above all, making everything not true. What he managed was, "Oh."