It cuts anyway. Not too deep, but enough, coupled with his irritation and helplessness, to raise his defenses. "This is my responsibility," he says. Hisses. A suppressed shout. People are asleep. He needs to be at least slightly more upset to wake them all up yelling at the Herald of Andraste—

or not yelling. He's still rigid with temper, as Zevran goes on, but he can't argue with that. It's the kind of thing he would have done. The kind of thing that he might have approved of, if he'd been asked or explained to or if he actually bought it at all. He doesn't, but he can't call Zevran a liar. He can't argue. But for a few seconds he still looks and feels like he might crack from all the feelings that no longer have a verbal outlet, before he forcibly breathes normally and looks away. Just for a moment. Long enough to snap the tension.

"Let me see," he says, rough and quiet but not quite angry. Mostly scared.