Those words hit their mark, just like Diego intended them to. He can see the muscle leap in Luther's jaw, the tightening in his neck. Luther knows exactly how true it is, how sore that still-healing wound was, and yet he still tries to deny it and spit back, "The man is dead, I'm not really sure how I can—"

But then.

The eyes. Luther's quick to notice when things are different about his teammates and siblings in particular, considering they were the only seven human beings he'd grown up knowing, his entire formative life. Diego's eyes flare gold and Luther's own blue eyes widen, then narrow in confusion. Suspicion.

It could be an illness. A fever, maybe. Stranger things have happened here in this world.

"What's wrong with you?"