The thanks doesn't go unheard but, for a moment, he is completely still, the overwhelming urge to destroy present in every strand of muscle fibre in his body. All he can do is hold himself in place, trying his best to hang on to Enver's voice in a way that doesn't pull him into the inappropriate role of prey. In the end he has to blot even that out as he feels his body start to turn almost of its own volition, a different kind of desire molten in his veins.

But he is nothing if not his incredible self-control. The reason his Father trusts him to see through this part of the plan with the Chosen of another god. His fists are tight enough to leave pink crescents grooved into his palms, and though he had started to twist, he is still mostly turned away from Enver. All the better for the both of them.

There are no more words forthcoming as he battles to focus the urge ahead of him, somewhere out the door. Somewhere out of both earshot and far enough away for plausible deniability for Lord Gortash. And so rather than share a goodbye - he is too far gone for that now - he stalks to the door and disappears beyond it. His thoughts are of only blood and meat now.