He'd left that conversation with so much anger left in him, and words that perhaps on some level he'd known — 'You died with the rest'; he's known, for some time now, that he must have, but hearing it said by Crozier himself.... The other man knows he died, and perhaps knows how that happened.

'Whatever penance you think you owe to the men you paid, Edward. You more than paid.'

But that part, he can't believe. Can't begin to believe it. Dying isn't enough, not when it's what they all did — he needs to suffer here and now, in this place, as this ghost...

If he's a ghost, he's cursed to feel the weight of things as a living man still would, for his heart pumps blood fast and hot, anxious as he stares across some feet to the other man sitting there. For a moment, Crozier looks... peaceful, more peaceful than Little can remember seeing him in ages. Then he sees him, and his eyes soften like that, and for some reason this affects Little so much more than if they were to sharpen instead. He has to take a moment, take a breath, and then he nods again.

"I wanted to reach you." There's still some lingering, persistent, (maybe desperate) need to speak formally, to choose his words carefully around this man specifically, but.... it falters. For the first time, really, it falters. Even to his own ears, he just sounds... like a man. Not reporting anything, not overtly deferential, only saddened. This man has known enough hurt.

"I should have come sooner. To tell you how deeply sorry I am for— for everything. For hurting you."