I believe that we were supposed to find this

REMI

Even as Ronin’s grip tightens, even as the golden pulse of his conviction surges through their bond, steady and unwavering—even as Remi feels the thread of violet beneath it, curling, twisting, something quiet but insidious, something waiting—he doesn’t pull away. Instead, the Bastion absorbs the emotions pouring through him as he was literally made to do; Ronin's quiet insult at being questioned, the genuine belief that he’d never hurt Remi—except, except—not unless...The not unless coils deep in Remi’s chest, slipping between his ribs like a second heartbeat.

A muscle feathers in his jaw, his fingers flexing briefly over Ronin’s hand before he forces his grip to stay loose. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time," Remi chuckles, attempting levity and falling far, far short of the mark.

Taking a breath Remi steadies himself, and looks back toward Mort, his expression pinched but determined. "Then tell me what I can do," he says, and though his voice is quiet, there’s no mistaking the iron at the center of it. "If the springs are gone...and if searching the Greatwood would leave Torchline vulnerable to Starfall, then..." Swallowing, Remi can only hope that what he asks next of the god will be balanced by the fact that once upon a time it was Vi himself who said that Remi and Ronin needed each other, just as Vi and Mort didl; hopefully the god of death would hear the Bastion's plea as being one of desperation rather than entitlement.

"...would Vi give us a rose?"

Table by sky!