He has a point, she knows. It's part of why this place hasn't managed to break her either; she's always had her own horrors to wade through, her own private swamp of demons inside her head and surrounding her. At first, it was a wall between her and empathizing for other people, wondering on some sublogical level why everything was bothering them so much. Now it's a tool of survival.

"I try to believe that even people who act like monsters these days aren't, you know. I don't know." She frowns and chews on her piece of meat, trying to decide who the person she used to be was. It didn't take her long to acknowledge that the term 'superhero' was really lip service to an idea she didn't live up to, but there's a difference between deciding you weren't an angel and condemning your old self as a devil.

"Anyway. I like your life philosophies." And she likes to not only feel as if she's a friend, but like he's made a measured decision to consider her such. That she hasn't hoodwinked him with her flash and toothpaste-ad smile.

Then the smile is gone and she's on her feet in an instant. The box cutter comes out. The moment of peace vanishes much more quickly than it arrived. "I hear footsteps."