Credence hadn't expected this. Granted, he's not sure what he'd been expecting, but Graves' smooth voice tells him his entire life story, laying out thoughts of fear and isolation and getting it right. Graves hasn't lived it, instead he's using detective work and logic to hammer everything out, and it's not for the first time that Credence feels exposed. He's nervous, more than usual, and his hands go from being clenched to in front of him, clasped together and squeezing tightly to find some semblance of comfort.

More and more, he's sure that this man isn't the one that seduced him with promises of belonging. He wonders, dimly, if the perfect, stoic wizard in front of him has lost just as much to Grindlewald than Credence has.

Mr. Graves isn't the sort to have a lot to give up, he thinks. Mr. Graves' work concerns him first and foremost. The man who is-and-isn't him had swooped in and turned it upside down. Credence wonders if Graves has anything left--he thinks they're similar, perhaps more similar than Graves wants to admit. Both of them now have nothing in the wake of one single, solitary being. Both of them should have known better.

Now, more than ever, Credence feels closer to Graves.

"I trusted him," He admits softly. They're not talking about the Obscurus, not now, he's sure of it. "When you came here, I thought maybe you were him. Even now, sometimes, I..."

His gaze lowers. "I'm sorry for what he did to you, too."