[ An ear twitches, Emmet letting out a mildly questioning, unsure noise of his own when Ingo trails off. Too vague, open-ended. Multiple things it could be. He can't quite tell how Ingo meant to finish that sentence.

... oh. He can't, can he. ]

Maybe it was on to something. [ He offers instead, considering what he is here and all. (and what does that mean for him, really.) There's a sloping, rolling motion in his shoulders that's probably meant to be a shrug, or whatever passes for one when they're both lying down, shoulder to shoulder.

(He could stop making himself talk. If the memory is fuzzy for Ingo, that means Emmet's still holding on to most of it, isn't he? ... That isn't fair though, is it? Is he trying to relieve Ingo from being weighed down by the worst of this one memory, or is he just being selfish?) ]

But whatever it was trying. Whatever it did or didn't see, and decided to recreate. What it thought would be a good idea to copy. I am glad Sneasler made it in time. I am glad someone came at all. I am very, verrrry—

[ Ah, it's getting harder to get the words out. They catch in his throat. It didn't happen, but voicing even this much still makes that horrible alternative feel more real, like it could have happened somewhere far away in another time. And Emmet might never have known.

With effort, he manages to force the rest of it aloud. ]

I am glad you're still here.