[ he reaches a hand up, a thumb brushing under one of her eyes. catching a teardrop at the end of it as he reaches inside his pocket to pull out a small handkerchief, made of a dark purple, almost black material, to dry her tears with. ]

Don't apologise.

...Is it something that you've not heard a lot, before? If I need to keep reminding you of it, I will.

Because you're not. Your life is so much more than what others try to make of it.
Perhaps if this Order had recruited you under fairer terms, under a contract that isn't entirely in bad faith, lending them your power wouldn't be a bad thing.

We both know some of these people we deal with deserve what they have coming.

But the order making people like you into living weapons...

That's wrong.

And I'll fight them for your freedom.