[ Sylvain knows this feeling of inescapable dread, of being subject to someone who wants you dead. He's no longer the boy he once was, pushed into an old well or left behind in the dead of winter when no one was looking, but the fear remains the same. (It's unnatural, but well-constructed enough that it evokes a physiological response.)

He doesn't think Claude is anything like Miklan, but his instincts won't settle either, even if they're wrong. ​]

No, but you saying you're gonna take me out in the dark does.

[ His grip on Claude's hand tightens, enough that the other boy can't slip his fingers away to draw a weapon. (His other hand is still occupied with the torch, which he could easily swing at Sylvain, or drop in favor of something else.) ]

Despite what you may've heard, I don't get on my back for just anyone.

[ Not that I would've minded, if things had been different. ]