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It's a fleeting comment, but the lawyer's words bother him deep into the night. Lying in bed, Desmond struggles to sleep. That interaction in the courtyard playing in his mind - him, leaning against one of the bushes, finally feeling some semblance of calm for the first time since he woke up in this place. And then that group of four had neared him, and the terror that had been crushing his lungs threatened to make a reappearance. Even so, he smiled and waved, jogging over towards them. Walking straight into another problem.
You...haven't killed anyone, have you? the tall man asks, an uneasy look on his face. His words are like a solid fist to the stomach, and it takes Desmond a moment to collect himself.
W-Woah, never! he replies, and quickly, before the situation can escalate - before he's accused of anything else he didn't do, he composes himself. Reciting the words he usually used to get himself out of difficult situations like these: I realise my talent may leave some people on edge...but I only practice on stationary targets. Moving targets are really outside of my comfort zone.
Believe me, I've never taken a human life, he finishes. The tall man nods, looking slightly calmer.
The blond man looks slightly bothered by the question himself, but all he says is I see...Good to know.
And the conversation moves on seamlessly. Eventually, Desmond finds himself comforting a young lady sobbing into her hands. She looks far more distressed than him, so he buries his discomfort and focuses on her instead.
Yet even now, late at night, Desmond couldn't shake the sour feeling in his stomach. The tall man - an Ultimate Lawyer, of all people, casually asking if he was a murderer. And that same man had quickly assumed a position of leadership above everybody else, encouraging them to follow him, disdaining those who wouldn't - could this same authority be wielded as a weapon against Desmond, used to slowly alienate him until his life was at risk? Was there hatred hiding behind that polite smile - loathing, obscured behind manufactured politeness?
It's nothing, he tells himself, as he tries to get comfortable in his bed. A few words from a stranger shouldn't be setting him off, not when Wolfgang was the one rallying them, giving them hope - attempting to, at least, until the Liar opened her mouth. He shouldn't overreact over one strange question, not when almost everything else Wolfgang has done was for the good of the group.
As he drifts off to sleep, Desmond hopes in his heart that it was nothing but a one-off, thoughtless comment from a man still shaken from being kidnapped, and not an indication of worse things to come.
Entering the dining hall the day after the mock trial, Desmond spots Wolfgang and Grace talking across the room. Catching his eye, Wolfgang flashes Desmond his usual, genial smile, before returning to his conversation with Grace. No sign of his past apprehension to be found.
And it is almost enough to put Desmond at ease.