"I couldn't tell you..." He admits quietly, frowning down at the floor beneath their feet. "I wanted to. I tried to, a few times, but-- I knew you'd just try to stop me, or talk me out of it, talk about how we had a- a duty or a destiny or whatever and... I knew I couldn't do it, if you asked me not to. Told me. Ordered me." Because that was always, absolutely and unequivocally a distinct possibility. And as much as Diego always hated it, Luther had always had a certain degree of control over him like that. For ranking reasons, beyond almost all else.