L wanted to agree, with the same confident skepticism he had originally expressed when Reid had first approached him, but he felt like someone had punched him in the chest and hollowed out a substantial section, leaving cold uncertainty behind. He'd just witnessed something impossible from a frighteningly first-hand perspective, and the fact that he was becoming number and more immobile the longer the Gypsy held him couldn't be shrugged off.
Madame Romani nodded stiffly, releasing his wrist and nudging a wooden stool forward just in time for him to collapse into it. "Fine. Talk. But try to take heem, and I shoot you," she warned, holding up the rifle for emphasis.
L held his chest, trying to catch his breath. He looked like he'd just run a mile, pale and shaking and winded.