She wants to. She can even imagine how to spin it to herself: it's not dangerous so long as she keeps her word, it's not dangerous because it's meant to keep them safe, so on so forth. But it'd be a half-truth at best.

"...please," she says, instead, voice the kind of small it rarely ever gets. She does force herself to look him in the face. "Please, just— Trust. Me. I know how it looks, alright? I know you're pissed, I knew you'd be pissed— but I swear, Sam, this only gets worse if I tell you too much. And I—"

—still love you and don't want to watch you get hurt when I can prevent it. I still love you and I know you're over me but I'd still do anything for you if you asked. I still love you and if making you hate me a bit keeps you alive to go home then maybe I'll just have to live with that. Not like I'm not used to ending up alone.

"...please."

She shrinks in her seat, feeling more pathetic than ever.