She says nothing for a long moment, more collapsing into the hug than anything else. It's loud, so loud in her head, the thoughts that say she's not more yet. As long as he's bound in her, as long as she still feels the way she does, everyone's still at risk. All of those people are still dead. If she could weep, she might have - but still, she can't pass that barrier. Only feel it all in her chest as a storm, and exhale, shaky, trying to steady herself again.

Tell that to the others, a very small voice says. Gods, I'm trying, I'm trying,-

No. She doesn't get that. She forfeited the right to that protest the minute she chose to not lie about it. The minute she chose to get closer to people. Endure. This was always expected.

What isn't, though, is the support. From him, from those that understand innately, from other sources. So she makes herself keep breathing, even so.

"...I should have told you myself."

She could have never told him herself. Not that much.