[ Gustave's head jerks, a tiny shake of denial, more reflex than reaction. His hands fall to his sides, empty.

When he speaks again, the words come quietly, hoarse, but certain as rock. ]

And how could I possibly return.

[ There's no question to it; it's a simple statement. He knows. He knows. There's no truth here that he's hiding from himself, that he hasn't accepted. ]

There's no going back, not for me. You made sure of that.

There's nothing for me to return to but oblivion.