He really, really wishes she hadn't seen that. He knows he isn't being blamed, because that would be stupid, Lup's better than that because she's better than all of them, that's kind of her thing, but he ducks his head and pins his ears in guilt anyway. It's been such a recurring sore spot, though it's not like he's going to, like he's just gonna up and forget her again or something, it was never a leak in his mind so much as someone just gutting the plumbing wholesale. But the little missteps that show he's working from a damaged record still hurt and throw them out of sync and he hates it, bitterly and pointlessly.

"I know," he says, and his voice is just as soft because he's forcing it to be, even though part of him wants to wail instead, curled protectively around his own crossed arms. "This wasn't--I didn't pick this," in just, so many ways. He meets her eyes pleadingly. "I know you were there," he insists, but it's not her he has to convince.