[He doesn't respond with a text himself; it seems cruel. If she can't even bring herself to do her usual awful emotional texting right now, she's too occupied, too distraught, or both. . . . It sounds like it's probably both.

But he pauses before responding to take that in. You understand—

Does he? What does he know? She'd come here in the middle of her own Grail War against Archer and the others, and been unable to let that go. That he can understand well enough himself, even with everything else aside. She's been so brittle lately, beaten down by the agonies of this place. The Siren. Continuing battles that have already reached their conclusion. Yeah, he understands, even in these early moments of putting together puzzle pieces, like looking at the emerging image and knowing exactly what it is even with the details still unplaced on the board.

When he's ready otherwise and grabbing his tablet to pocket on the way out, he stops then to turn it on and respond by video. It's clear enough he's on his way out the door. Caster's never seen his familiar before, but it's visible now in the frame: a python-sized hydra coiled around his shoulders, with sleek black and blue scales, seven white-eyed heads with mouths full of dagger-like fangs. . . . Despite that, it looks like it's in a docile mood, resting against Kadoc's body.]

. . . Are you crazy? Not about this. About me fighting you. I wouldn't stand a chance. And I promised someone I'll never see again that I wouldn't go courting death after she was gone.

[And yet, he's leaving the little inn room as he answers.]