She lets him withdraw, certainly, and pulls her own hand back into her lap too. She has no idea what he's thinking, what he wants; she doesn't need bolstered about something she's learned to accept as not only necessary, but much preferable to the way a lot of people in her world live. There are people who never leave the community walls.

Those people will die the moment any hardship hits them. Not Rosita.

She raises an eyebrow, and the expression she makes then is the shape of a smirk except this one doesn't quite reach her eyes either.

"This was the fourth time I've been held prisoner by one group of assholes or another. You should see what I can do with my belt buckle if I have to." Some of her fashion choices aren't fashion choices at all in the end. This time, though, they gave her back a better weapon. "That's what I learned when I had to grow up: the world doesn't give a shit. It just moves on, always. You can lay down and die or you can go with it, and I'm not ready to go yet."