[ amos crosses his arms, and cassian — doesn't relax. but some tautness leaves his shoulders, and his jaw becomes less tightly clenched. he doesn't stop assessing amos's body language for signs of an attack, and he doesn't stop running through scenarios of what he'd do if that happens, but he's calm. no longer actively expecting a fight. he isn't interested in starting shit, either.

what good would it do? amos isn't his enemy, not really.

he breathes out, closes his eyes for a moment, opens them and looks back to amos. he could lie. he certainly can't reveal the whole answer. what he does, instead, is tell part of the truth. ]

I meant what I said, about the factions. I think we have bigger problems to worry about.

[ but that's not an answer, really. if both factions are the same to him, why switch? (why not switch?) after a moment, he shrugs. ]

Even if Yima really can make us a new world... [ and there's a hint of real longing in his voice that he can't suppress ] ...what will the cost be? Destroying worlds, and galaxies, that are still alive out there? [ he shakes his head. ] I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of, but this? It got to me.

[ is half-true. maybe even three-quarters true. there have been so many nights he couldn't sleep, since joining zenith, wondering how many souls he'd be consigning to oblivion to destroy the empire. wondering how many dreams he'd be crushing, knowing some of them among the meridian with stunning clarity. wondering what would happen to even his galaxy, to everyone alive last he saw them, if yima made profound changes to the fabric of its reality at his behest. he could make himself this monster, to destroy the empire. he has it in him. but it's so hard, and for what? a promise from a woman he doesn't even trust? ]