"You can't help, period." He grinds the words out; even coming this close to addressing the truth feels like pulling teeth. No. It feels like taking a punch to the back of the head. But there's nothing to be done. The gauntlets hold no power, and likely never will. Their only purpose is to be a painful reminder of things he'd buried long ago, things he's been working to repent over.

"There is nothing to talk about. It --" He shifts abruptly, as if he might run, but his feet remain planted at the last second. "It is an upsetting reminder of a dark time, and quite frankly, Darcy, I haven't even told Valkyrie about it. I'm not --" Ready to tell, "-- able to tell you."