Barnaby feels a twinge of -- not horror, exactly -- but a kind of subconscious fear from the scene playing out before him. He doesn’t sympathise with Estinien. He doesn’t care for the Innocence entity, and never did. It’s more that he is reminded, even if the details are unclear in his memory now, of when he had been dragged here to this throne room a month ago. The things he went through paled in comparison to what Estinien has endured, but his own wounds are still raw enough in his mind and soul to plague him even now.

And then the Regent plunges their hand into Estinien’s chest, and Barnaby himself can feel that uncomfortable burning across his own skin, his own shard begins to vibrate like it might shatter. Instinctively he places a hand over his chest in a pointless attempt to shield it; he can’t risk more damage to his shard with it already in its current state.

Then comes... nothing. The room is gone, his body is gone, his thoughts and feelings all obliterated with it.

A jarring pop of a bottle uncorked jolts him to his senses. He realises his arm has dropped to his side, as he had simply given up resisting. Nonexistence had been easy, empty. Not comforting, that being far too warm a word to describe it, but it had at least released him from all the suffering of continuing to exist. It’s only the sight of the Regent that reminds him he is still needed here, at least for now.

Though he helped earn their victory here today, Barnaby's in no state to savour any celebration. At the earliest opportunity, he'll turn and try to slip out unnoticed.