It's cryptic. It's strange, and weird, and the feeling he gets is new and familiar all at once. The way Jean says it sounds like it's raw to her, still fresh, like she's experienced it--whatever 'it' is--or has had someone very close to her experience it recently.

He wonders if she's a witch, if that pretty red hair is spun with the brilliance of magic and enchantment. He wonders if she has a familiar at home, a black cat or a toad, or if she can disappear and reappear like the man who called himself Mr. Graves did. It would certainly explain a lot of things and make the most sense. She emanates charisma, natural and confident.

Or maybe Credence is just completely and utterly unused to girls that aren't his sisters.

"I'm sorry," he says, because he really is--he knows what it's like. He has the scars from people who don't understand; from people who hate. From his arms and up his body, a harsh reminder of the adoptive mother that hates him. If he closes his eyes he can still feel the sharp slap of the man who wasn't and was Mr. Graves, beautiful and charming and promising, just like how Jean's words seem right now, luring him in.

Someone who understands.

Credence scrunches his eyes up tight, wishing he didn't feel so divisive about what was going on, before he very quietly, very timidly, says the one thing that's on his mind:

"Do you think some of us are here because of that?" And, after a short pause. "Is this a second chance, Jean?"