[The accent request manages to pry a tiny smile out of Stiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that might suggest this was once a commonplace expression for him. But he sobers quickly, mind always too busy under self-assigned duress for him to maintain a lighter atmosphere.]

I’ve got questions. [A mental file cabinet’s worth, actually.] I’m just…

[Tired. Ultimately, Cyram told him the most important detail—that he doesn’t necessarily channel the void that Stiles is familiar with, only refers to that space as such. The rest? Maybe for once, Stiles can let that information come naturally instead of spearheading a relentless interrogation.]

I think I already said it, but I’m gonna—

[Reaching forward, he picks the note up and holds it carefully. A thumb brushes over the paper.]

Sorry for what happened. And…thanks. Seriously. I promise it’s not usually like that. Like, I don’t think the word “void” is even that much a trigger for me.

[It was the exact circumstances—that Cyram was performing unknown magic and apparently those powers were involved with the void. Goosebumps flare up and down the teen’s arms.]

So…you don’t have to worry about that again. (Probably.)