[ She watches him as he washes his hands, and her mind fills with the swirls of pink she can visualize running down the drain.

Washing away blood is too familiar by now. ]

He adopted me when I was young to mold me into a weapon. When my parents—

[ But this time, she stops herself (because her throat closes up when she tries to verbalize this moment of her history, because she doesn't need to tell him, because that's too much information, because—).

She shakes her head, starting again. ]

You are not misunderstanding. And that's why you can't tell anyone.