[Evelyn frowns at him for a moment because she doesn't understand the phrase, but would be hard-pressed not to understand the tone. Presumably the third degree is some reference to interrogation techniques, but she hardly thinks that this is the verbal equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition.]

...I have a son. Had...I suppose, since I'm- [Dead.] -he was taken from me.

[Her fingers trip up over the locket around her neck, fidgeting with the chain.]

I know what waiting feels like, that it feels impossible. I'm just sorry I can't give you any more reassurance.