He doesn't miss the flinch, the way her jaw tightens, as if she's trying her hardest not to show her hurt. Nor could you miss the way she charges in, needing something else, a distraction for both of them, something that takes her mind off whatever it was, something that distracts him from asking about that flinch. It doesn't work exactly, but he doesn't press her, doesn't ask her what is wrong. He knows she won't tell him, knows that she doesn't trust him, and if she ploughs on, avoiding the subject, she clearly does not want to talk about it. At least, not with him.

"If you all go back home, you won't remember this place." He says it gently, because he doesn't want her labouring under the idea that she will, doesn't want her thinking any good memories here, with people she cares about, will bolster her in her life at home, any future she has to endure. "I didn't. Other people who went and came back, it was as if nothing had happened for them. I didn't remember anyone here, or anything that happened. Not until I got back again."

So any alliance she would have made, it wouldn't mean anything at home anyway. That's what he means to say, although he realises he's not done it well. "What I meant is that he won't remember spending time here, and neither will you. It won't change the lives you go back to. I'm sorry."