[None of that is an answer to his question. In a way, that is the answer to his question.

What can she say she knows about him? Nothing. Not a single person here knows a real damn thing about him, because that's how he keeps it, that's the only way he doesn't get himself hurt. It's better if he just doesn't. That's what he's learned after all this time.

So why does it feel so shitty, listening to Jolyne talk like it's all her fault? All her pain to avoid? Why does it sting, unexpectedly, not to hear her try to answer?

Maybe it's because he holds all the cards. Maybe it's because he owes her something, after all the ways she's looked out for him, complied with his need for darkness and secrecy. Maybe she at least deserves to know the shape of who he is--what it is she has some kind of who-the-fuck-knows feelings for.

Maybe he's a fool.]

I'm a thief, Jolyne.

[He says it quietly: a bare, simple confession.]

What happened there, in the Outlands... is how it's meant to go for people like me. ['This was bound to happen, mate.'] I know it wasn't you, that you wouldn't turn on me like that. I knew it wasn't you even then.

[With that, he exhales heavily and braces his hands on the window sill.]

It just made me realize I was letting my guard down.

[And that's not something he can do and survive.]