Tess nods, slowly. It is pathetic. It has occasionally felt that way, at least in the transparent seconds before something bolstered her up: sighs or snaps at the slightest show of regret, a drink in her hand, a slap across the face. Reality checks she'd taken on smoothly, buried them under the righteous anger of her choices.

Her teeth graze the inside of her cheek.

"Nothing that matters now," she replies. She reaches reflexively to thumb at her eyes; they feel hot, they feel like a betrayal, they feel like a misdirection she doesn't want to veer into. There is no deserved woe is me here. She stumbles on: "With Robert I was just thinking about the assholes he sent to kill me, and how he'd stolen from us, how he'd fucked us over... we had to get our shit back. We never did it for the hell of it."