Gardens, anywhere he could find them, always served as a refuge. Eleven sat in a warm patch of sun, fingertips gentle over the leaves of a vegetable plant, his voice a low, inaudible murmur until Yennefer called out.

Eleven's head whipped around, and he flashed her a quick smile even as unease settled anew in his stomach. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been... out of sorts.

"I'm okay," he said, words as automatic as his smile- one that shifted into a short grimace. That prevalent lie again. He dropped his hands into his lap, then took a breath and shrugged.

"As well as I can be," he corrected, ducking his head. "I'm sorry if I've worried you. It's been difficult, accepting my uselessness in this world."