And now. Now came the question she had been somewhat reluctant to ask. Joan stared fixedly at his hands, following how he moved and tapped and otherwise nervously shifted. It made her anxious while seemingly soothing his.

"... did you do it?"

For Irene. For justice. For whatever reason he might have for killing someone. She wasn't-- Joan didn't see it in him, but then again wasn't that what all people whose friends or family committed a violent crime said?