This was maddening. He was only trying to help her, but he couldn't tell her that. Any indication he gave that he still cared about her, even in the most perfunctory sense, would only add fuel to her fire. Anything he told her about what he'd already done she would take as encouragement to go farther, clues to be used in the search rather than discouragements. There was nothing he could say to convince her, it seemed.

"Read what you like," he eventually grumbled. "But don't write me. I won't read them."

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