"I guess maybe that's the problem," Jyn admits, shrugging tensely. Just tearing the words from herself feels painfully difficult, and with anyone else, she would probably be getting indignant already. Owning up to any sort of weakness or vulnerability is something she expects she'll always be uncomfortable with. But this is Lincoln, and she actually trusts him, and maybe it will be better if she actually says some of this out loud instead of trying to sort through it on her own.

It's one thing she prefers not to go to Cassian about, too, if she can help it. If he asked, she'd be honest with him, and she wouldn't pretend not to be fine with anything, but she knows her father's presence is a touchy subject for him, too, and she doesn't want to add to that.

"I don't know what I want. I never had a choice before. Now that I do..." She doesn't know what to do with it. Part of her feels awful for that, cold and ungenerous, memories of her father's hologram still impossible to shake. Somewhere in her, though, is still the eight-year-old girl who watched her father leave with the men who killed her mother, then waited and waited in vain for him to come back for her. The sting of that abandonment will likely never fully fade.