Facts, at least, are a place to start . . . She's told the story several times, and even though it's still not easy, it's still far easier at this point than navigating the uncertainty of the space in between them. She shifts a little in her place, legs sliding out a little -- just enough to tuck her arms, still folded, back against herself.

"It was my fault." She doesn't hide from that; she's not sure she can stop believing it, even now. "I went looking for information in Pride -- for the memories. For a way to give them back. I had the access . . . I had to try."

She skips any mention of Steven -- of the nights leading up to that, staying with him, entering the private areas of Pride with him while shifted. Though he didn't have any involvement, the last thing she wants is for Greg to think that he did.

"I found her -- Lesedi Santiago's -- room." Her shoulders twitch as though she expects something to happen even now, the name handled like a bomb on the tongue. "In the middle of Pride -- a room without windows. Or doors. All her records, all her plans . . . She found me there. I couldn't--" Her breath is shallow even now in the retelling, tight in her throat; she presses her eyes shut. "There wasn't any water; I couldn't get it to come."

For a few moments, she's completely silent, closed away, as though for a moment she's there again behind her eyelids with Lesedi's fingers tight at her throat.

She shakes suddenly, hard, and her eyes snap open again, seeking out his face, anchoring herself to it.

"It was like I was in the middle of it again. The war on Earth, when I went home, when they put me into the mirror . . . Everyone . . . they were Gems; they wanted to do everything over again. If I didn't hurt them, they'd hurt me; they'd make all of it happen again. If I hesitated . . . voices. To remind me what would happen. To push me. To tell me I was weak."

". . . I wasn't strong enough. Again."