It sounds to Cecil like Enjolras' heart isn't really in his analysis. He feels a stab of-- not annoyance, exactly, but come on! Enjolras doesn't have to deal with the Cornucopia anymore, so what's the point in being a buzzkill?

"What does it really mean, a Cornucopia ending badly?" Cecil's tone starts out warm; maybe he can brighten up that depressing final note. "We used to call a Cornucopia bad when too many died. When the first night showed us only a patchwork of lights with miles between them-- too much distance to promise detection-- and the days were long and fruitless hunts in which the little numbers on the screen orbited each other and never collided, caught in the gravity of their fear. When we had to watch them starve, and by the time of the Crowning could not differentiate in our memories all their small and quiet deaths."

By the time he's done, he's looking off somewhere over Enjolras's shoulder, less nostalgic than pensive. When he comes back to reality, it is swift and easy, and his smile returns as though it had never left.

"Crazy how things change, isn't it? Nowadays, it's kind of disappointing when there are too many left alive!" A laugh-- "I mean, how are you even supposed to decide who to root for?"