A twitch of Myr's head goes for acknowledgement of the question--that and no more, at first. To say something requires confessing to having a desire he should have killed and buried before it did the same to someone else. Requires confessing just how far beyond the bounds of orthodoxy he believed, and how it misled him, and how he fears--as Odetta did--he'd failed the test set before him.

"Of having my eyes again. Yes."

His fingers walk the spine of the journal once more, those same eyes drawn down to its cover.