Jyn tips her head up a little at that, surprised, though she doesn't know why. Seeing him had too clearly prompted a reaction in her that she couldn't have hidden then or attempted to deny now if she wanted to. She might be a good liar, has had to learn to be, but being this close now, it would be useless to try. She'd give herself away before she even started to speak. The fact that she's here at all probably does, anyway, when it isn't as if she just climbed into his bed because she had nowhere better to be. Just as there was earlier, there's a strange, welcome comfort in being close to him, and in the dark, with the faint noise of whatever show they've stumbled upon in the background, she can almost, almost shut out everything else, the world narrowed down to the two of them.

They're the only survivors, now, and they weren't meant to be. At least, it seems like it would be foolishly naïve to let herself believe otherwise, all the evidence pointing to the contrary, and she's already being foolish enough for one night just in being here beside him.

"So did I," she says, what doesn't seem like too much to admit given what he's just said. It makes sense, anyway. All of this is so surreal, so unpredictable, and she hates that about it, not being able to get a read on the situation at all, but at least for the first time in a long time, she isn't alone. "I wasn't sure — I knew I had to try to find you, but I didn't know if you were even here, or..." She still can't say dead, but it seems to hang heavy in the air anyway, the closest she's come to the subject in words yet. Instead, she shrugs, not much of a movement with the way she's curled against him, but clear enough even so. "And then you were right there." It had seemed almost too good to be true. It still does.