At Claire's touch and words, Hilda immediately stills. It's not so unlike moments she'd had with her own mother growing up when she had been having some kind of outburst or was upset. All it took most of the time was a soothing voice, and safe space to bring her back down to earth.

But even Claire's very rational question isn't enough to dispel the hurt and doubt that had been festering in Hilda's body for the last several months. For the first time since her fight with Claude, Hilda can't help but feel unsteady even as she grips Claire's hand in return. "He admitted as much," she starts, shifting slightly in her seat. There's a reluctance in her voice, as if she can't bear to bring herself to forgive him.

"Back home -," she starts haltingly as her other hand clenches into a fist in her lap, "he was just planning on leaving after the war. He wasn't going to say anything to anyone. Not to our friends, not to me."