Locus says nothing.

This needed to happen, sooner rather than later. Washington had been correct in that respect, at least. He'll maintain his distance, find someone else to spar with. He doesn't look up again until he hears fading footsteps.

Find where it stings, he thinks, where it hurts, where you thought you might have had hope for something good, and push it down. Drown it. You'll survive without it.

He'll be fine without this.