[Another knife, piercing straight through his fear and into a second worry: looking down this fruitless, indeterminate resistance and realizing, in a cold panic, I don't think I can do this again if I'm on my own this time.

And now Silvally is here.

As if to confirm that, or just sensing his rising stress, it jolts in his hand. Gladion tenses, sitting up a little straighter.]

No, buddy, it's fine, [he murmurs,] it's just a talk. [And he slouches again, slowly.

Breathes out. Breathes in.]

That's all I want. I just don't - I don't want to - we've all sort of, lost it when hunger hit. [Breathe.] If I have to go under, I want to know I'll come back up again.