Raju huffs a soft breath, some echo of amusement carried with the sound; it isn’t the first time someone trying to help has told him to keep still like that, and it certainly won’t be the last. The amusement, such as it is, fades quickly; he holds his hands still long enough for the two of them to finish tying the one hand, and then presents the other.

Raju isn’t looking at his hand, though; Raju is looking up at him. His expression is solemn, and curious. As little as he wants to dig up memories in Francis that are going to hurt, he himself might need to know, to learn what he can, if it will help.

“That sounds like a lesson you’ve learned already,” he murmurs, as close to gentle as he can afford to be. “Is that what happened to your men? Before?”