[He's sorry for chafing things raw. Wash waves it off, shrugs armored shoulders. She's gone. If he let grief blindside him every time someone disappeared, he'd be a wreck. Processing someone else's grief in triplicate, in the burning pit of Epsilon's nerves as they chewed him inside and out, gave him enough practice to accept and discard it as it comes.]

[That's probably not healthy.]

Sometimes they die. C.T. just...disappeared. You ask the Storyteller, they'll usually confirm what happened to them. Though how much of that is true is another thing entirely. [Trust is a hard thing to come by; a rabbit god doesn't make the cut.]