Confessor Martin: Thank you for coming so quickly.
DiMA: I heard about the execution. I can't believe they killed your missionary, Martin. I'm sorry.
Confessor Martin: Brother Andrews. A good soul. The fault... is mine. If I'd realized things had become so tense in Far Harbor, I would've never let him leave. They blame us for the Fog overrunning the town, DiMA. And now the Children... it's Tektus. He won't listen. He wants to prepare for war.
DiMA: Do you believe the others will follow him?
Confessor Martin: Time was, I would've laughed at such a notion, but now... Andrews was beloved by many. It's brought out the worst in them. Fury. Hate. It was tolerable when it was just Tektus... DiMA, something must be done.
DiMA: Exile?
Confessor Martin: Exodus. I think it's time you and I convinced the citizens of Far Harbor to leave.
DiMA: You can't be serious.
Confessor Martin: You know as well as I they're not meant for this place. The Fog grows thicker every year. How long before the condensers are finally overwhelmed? It's not banishment, DiMA. It's mercy.
DiMA: I'm sorry, Martin, but no. They have as much right to be here as you do.
Confessor Martin: Right? This place is trying to kill them. And now my people are at my throat because of the mess you created by allowing them to stay! And if you can't recognize that... then I suppose there's no reason for you to be here. I think you should go.
DiMA: Martin, please. This can be solved in other ways.
Confessor Martin: Get. Out.
DiMA: Very well. We'll talk again... when you come to your senses...
