Funny how much power two little words can have. They sink into Ed's chest and add confusion to the tempest of emotions running rampant in his chest. He's right. Of course he's right. Why wouldn't he be? But then what does that mean, exactly? How can he even argue if the person across from him is agreeing with him? This isn't how things worked with Izzy, or anyone else who felt the need to have the final word, and Edward doesn't know how to respond.

"I--" he gawks. His throat feels so tight, burning and suffocating any words from coming out of his lungs. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. He'd never thought in a million years that this conversation would go this way, calling back to their last. But of course, he should have. History's greatest tactician didn't stop to think that Stede Bonnet wasn't actually like the others.

"I don't know--" he breathes, voice cracking as he feels a wet tear fall to his cheek. He doesn't even know where the fuck he is, let alone what to do next.