There's no resistance; the push just has him going faster, bumping his knees against the floor in a way he might feel later but certainly doesn't now.

Right now, he's squeezing Jedao's hands like lifelines and blinking hard, over and over, because you don't just - you don't force a man to kill you and then sob into his arms about it.

You don't reject his forgiveness, either. "Thank you."

There's no tremble in his voice. You learn to speak clearly through all sort of pain, when people need to hear you.