[ Against all odds, the corners of his lips quirk upwards, something of a smile showing through. Like an inside joke only certain people who have lived through certain things may get and, turns out, they might both be that person. ]

Not your problem if they're not paying attention. You find a way to get some power back, situation like that? You take it.

[ And it isn't often he regrets things he says. No, strike that; he never does. But she looks smaller, when she curls in on herself like that. Younger. Amos doesn't know how young she actually is — certainly not young — but. Maybe young enough. Either way. He looks away from her as she does it, stares back out at nothing. Swallows. The anger building up inside him is still there; at some point, he's going to let it loose. Doesn't know when, just... he knows himself well enough to know it's going to happen.

Reflexively clenches and unclenches his fists; lets his hands fall on his lap. Not resting them, just. A place for them to be, in the meantime. ]

No. I killed him and I left. Past can't come back for you if it's dead, so.

[ A lopsided, half-hearted shrug; a sudden sense of exhaustion. From seeing her reaction to him, from waiting for the inevitable. It's draining, and it leaves his voice sounding empty. Probably better than the alternative, but it still feels like shit, especially when he knows this is only a temporary reprieve. ]

I knew this woman once. [ Lydia. Though he's not going to say her name out loud; that's too personal. Too private. ] She did what she had to in order to survive. Part of that was warming beds, sure. Lost touch with her. Found out later, after she'd died, that she did get married. Nice guy, too. So I dunno. Guess anything's possible.

[ They were pulled into another world, after all; anything really is possible, isn't it. ]