His wariness is apparent in the motion; Felassan's eyes do not waver, even as he affects a casual air, nor shoulders bear a careless angle. That is— painful, yes, but no more than he deserves. Solas nearly laughs when he does at last ask the important question, and his voice has deep bitterness living in it.

"No. The leaders of this place are as it seems," And if they are not as openly cruel as the Evanuris, it is the velvet of a cat's paw, with the sharpness resides underneath, "They require labourers, and are unwilling to be denied. For all of Caldera's wonders, still we find ourselves in a familiar position."

Under a boot, more or less, with only two ways to go: up, or down. Still, Solas does not answer the other question, the one barely-asked. It's bad enough to have lived it, to explain it all for one who could understand some shade of the humiliation that his time with Rook had been... That would be the crowning embarrassment.