Rex's expression shifts, like he's sizing Darcy up. Not unfriendly. Concerned. Knowing. It keeps him from stuttering his reply.

"You, too?" It's rhetoric, and Rex kicks his legs a little as he thinks. "I'm more the loud, dumb, obnoxious lifting spirits type. Being a teenager is how I help with the crazy bad stuff back home."

Rex looks over his shoulder at the graveyard, shoulders sagging. "... Also, just so you know, I've got under three years of memories mostly spent on a military base or fighting monsters. Amnesia. So the closest I've been near a funeral is the grief montage of a superhero movie."

He's always opened up quickly about his amnesia the second it becomes relevant so people can just step over that landmine by knowing what page he's on, and that most of the book is blank.