"As though you shared any of that with me?" Jyn seethes in return. "As though you explained a thing about what it was for or who it was for? What, was I supposed to magically know? I didn't ask because I didn't need those answers; I didn't need to know why or who or when because all I cared about was helping you." She exhales something like a laugh, but the tenor of it is far too bitter for humor or amusement.

"You think you're so high and mighty, that you're able to dole out advice and make demands on people when you've no idea what their lives have been like? So you pulled a body from a burning house. Do you know how many people I've had to pull from burning wreckages? How many people I had to dig graves for, only to scatter in ashes of what we had hoped were them? How many people I had no time to say goodbye to, or mourn, to even dig a grave for in the first place? Don't talk to me about Poor Kira, pulling a body from a burning building. Talk to me when you've lost track of the names of the people you've lost. Talk to me when you can no longer remember their names or their faces or their voices because there have been too many."

The familiar adrenaline of anger has found its way into her fingers, and she empties the mug of the rest of the liquid gone cold, carelessly tossing it next to the other. Part of her wants it to break, part of her is grateful it doesn't.

She thinks to go after him, thinks to stop him from leaving - but thinks, he'll be just another one. Just another person who's walked away. Just another person who's been so caught up in their own whirlwind of feeling and righteousness, trying to mold her into who they think she should be. Her father had done it. Saw had done it. Cassian's done it. Why not another? It only makes sense, for it to go down like this.

She should be good at this by now, watching others walk away.