Jonathan Sims

"And what would I know about pain," John drawls, eyes narrow and tone downright desiccating. He knows he's being a prick, but given the copious scars covering his person — particularly the one across his throat, which is high enough that only a severe turtleneck might cover it, and therefore always visible — it does feel a bit rich of her to suggest that he can't begin to imagine whatever discomfort she's suffered.

Still, when she slumps a little, he feels no particular desire to stir her back up. "You can do whatever you like," he says, a little more gently. "But no one's lying with the intention to hurt you." After a beat, he adds, "And sometimes the reward is worth the risk."