It takes every bit of strength not to reach out and stop him from saying what he needed to, to watch him work past whatever they'd done and know she was helpless to do anything about it. Every breath she takes is slow and measured, a forced calm as if she were aiming at a target. And wouldn't she prefer to be peering through her scope at each and every person who was responsible for all of this?

It's not a feeling she's used to and it's not one she particularly likes. There was a difference between being a sniper in the military who followed orders and imagining the deaths of others for any other reason. She didn't care for either, but she could reconcile herself to the previous definition of herself.

She lets him finish telling her about these ghosts (friends of Gold and Silver?) before resting her hand on his much like she'd done at the library. This time, she moves her chair closer to him, to become just like any of the other couples in the club celebrating the day; although the words she ends up whispering to him aren't exactly the same, "Tell me what you remember."