[It's not a comfort, not at all, but at the same time it sobers Koby enough that he reels in his panic, his spiraling terror and grief and pain. Unconsciously, he sets his jaw, lifts his chin, squares his shoulders. Spine of steel, heart of stone -- neither of which he has, not now, not ever. But he can pretend, for a little. He has to.

And there is some comfort in Alicent not giving him a soft, vague answer. It means, perhaps, she thinks him strong enough to handle the stark, brutal truth: there is nothing they can do. She has her family, he has his crew and Quentin, and if the roll of the dice claims one or all, neither of them can stop it. All they can do is wait.]

Thank you. I -- think I sort of expected that. I hoped there was something I could do but. [Koby falters, looks down at her hand in his for a long moment, then curls his fingers gently around her bandages, mindful of the sting, the throb of torn cuticle.] I'm not the only one with people I love in danger.

And you shouldn't have to bear that, not from me. [A huffy, a reflexive reach up to push glasses that aren't there into place.] Not very soldier-like of me, to panic. I'm sorry, Alicent. I'm so -- sorry this is happening.

[But, because he knows she's no child too, no wilting flower that needs to be comforted:] The game is going to keep going until one team wins. Until all the wolves are caught, or... [Or we're all dead.]