[By the time Rey returns, Carlisle is looking marginally more alive than he had been: though as sickly pale as ever and still shaking, he no longer seems to be on the verge of passing out in a puddle of black goo. Small improvements.

He takes the handkerchief with a brief word of gratitude, and after a second's struggle, conjures an orb of water into his palm. He wets the fabric and removes his glasses, glad to have something to clean his face. His clothing will be much harder, but he's become an excellent scrubber at this point.]

Black bile. Again, it- it is nothing you need to concern yourself with. I am simply- simply worn out and should have taken it slower. I s- suppose I was too eager to be of some use to you.

[To prove himself more competent than he's sure his last conversation with her would have led her to believe.]