It's a relief when he doesn't say much or ask about it, though not entirely surprising that he seems to be speaking from experience of his own. Jyn still remembers, as much as she tries not to, what he'd looked like on the shuttle back from Eadu when she confronted him. She'd been too angry, at the time, to make much sense of it or even care, but that haunted, hollow look is burned into her memory now as much as anything else, and the words that later followed. After nearly all of his life in this fight, she can only imagine how many orders he didn't disobey, how many people like her father he followed through with pulling the trigger on.

Somewhere in the back of her head, she thinks that she should still hate him for what he almost did, but it's something else, something that she refuses to classify as need but is probably close to it, that sparks in her chest when she turns her face up towards him. If she doesn't have him, she has no one, and she's used to that, but he'd said it himself — she doesn't want to be alone here, not after what they've been through. Besides, she can't abandon the one person who's never abandoned her, even if it's bound to be only a matter of time before he leaves her like all the rest.

"I didn't think they would," she says ruefully, and she means both, too, the memories of the friends they've lost and the nightmares that leave her gasping for air upon waking. "That would be too easy, wouldn't it?"