[ Their gazes meet, and he raises an eyebrow at her. ]

And just what, pray tell, is barging in with the truth of the matter if not the same?

[ Either way, it’s a choice made for him, without his consent.

Well. He considers her question a moment, not entirely ready for the way the implications of it make him feel. Would he rather know that there likely isn’t anything waiting for him, no home, no family? That he is not what he thought himself to be? Oh, he does not like the way it makes him feel at all, something cold and barbed tangling up behind his ribs. ]

If you are so desperate for the moral high ground, perhaps you should pose this hypothetical to him, and not me.