[Immediately filled with far too many ideas for what he could snap back in response, Benedict opts for none of them, forcing himself to think about it and, grudgingly, realize that Byerly has a point.
[Rather than answer, Benedict holds his hands out on either side in a frustrated, shrug-like gesture. What can he even say that won't launch this circular conversation back from its beginning?]
All right, [he finally concedes, at a loss otherwise, and turns back to his writing. Please, Maker, let him just finish the day's work and get out of here.]
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Ugh.]
I know, [is all he allows himself to say.]
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Either don't go into danger, or know how to properly take care of yourself. Having my attention divided won't help me in my work.
[ Translation: I don't want to worry about you. ]
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[He'll see to it, one way or another. If only being a mage were the free pass some seem to think it is.]
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All right, [he finally concedes, at a loss otherwise, and turns back to his writing. Please, Maker, let him just finish the day's work and get out of here.]