A tilt of his head, listening, taking it in. Stephen opens his mouth for a moment as if to kneejerk argue back, but clamps it shut as Ness can see those gears turning, her arguments and his own warring back and forth in his mind.

He does lecture people about the smoking. He lectures the templars even more about their lyrium intake: another guarantee of premature mental deterioration, if not death itself. And isn’t the anchor-shard in his own hand another risk factor just like the lyrium?

Hypocrite, murmurs a voice in the back of his mind, which still sounds so very much like Wanda Maximoff.

“In terms of risk factors,” Stephen begins, slowly, “this one’s much less dramatic, almost negligible. The greater initial risk is if the shard embeds itself closer to the heart or brain, and not in an extremity like the palm. Otherwise, we’ve seen people carry their anchors safely for years. The captain’s coming up on nine, almost a decade.”

The way he refers to Gwenaëlle shows he’s clearly in professional mode; he’s speaking to Ness today as the Head Healer, not Stephen, not even her teacher.

“Even I’ve had mine more than twice as long as yours, and no ill effects.”