[ Stephen extends his left, eyes downcast in faux meekness. There's no wound to be found on his skin, although the blood does seem concentrated around his fingers as though he'd had his hands up to the wrist in someone's innards. Before that can be commented upon, however, he grabs for Booker's hand like a striking snake, capturing it. The touch of Stephen's bare skin will feel like the jolt of prickling electricity, as if a live wire ran just beneath his flesh. His eyes fasten on Booker's and they are not meek now, glowing gold and intent as he pushes persuasion on his thoughts. ]

Listen to me. You never saw a man with a bloody hand today. You didn't chase after anyone, you went about your business and you're very eager to get back to doing so. Nothing at all interesting happened here. You're going to be on your way--

[ he chokes on the last word as exhaustion from a long night and a longer case rises up, cutting off his casting. He'd been warned against using too much energy too quickly but he'd thought himself stronger than this, and he has to let go of Booker to put a hand over his mouth, eyes suddenly wide with pain and coughing out a spatter of blood, and the arcane lines cut into his arm that he'd only just healed reopen with a vengeance, bleeding heavily.

Any chance of attempting fluence again flies out the window. Booker might have felt Stephen's will pushing at his, sliding into his thoughts, but it's gone now. ]