"Let go of me," he snarled, reacting before her hand had even made contact with his shoulder. He wrenched his arm back, but not quickly enough to avoid her entirely. The friction of the fabric moving against his still tender skin was painful, but less so than what he'd caused himself with such a quick movement. Would it stop hurting when he's healed, or was this his new normal? Would he ever feel confident using the gift range of motion of his arms again without giving something away? Or would that slight trembling, the sign of weakness, stick with him?

Nonsense. He'd been on the bottom floor when the Ministry had collapsed on top of him, and he'd found a way to erase the scars from that. He would not live his life a cripple; he would be made whole. In the meantime, though, he wouldn't let Antigone see what had happened. Given that she would hardly expect him to visit her bedroom, that should be fairly simple, provided he could end this interaction without giving anything away. He needed more time.

"What do you want?" he demanded, turning his back to the wall so that she might be less likely to notice if his posture began to suffer. His face was more composed now, though he hadn't been able to entirely stop himself from flinching at her touch.