That single movement is almost worse than anything that could have words. She lives in a world of words. Her eyes had dropped, tellingly toward the movement, causing her mouth to stiffen, even as she shook her head and looked back up.

"I would not have let you die." Even for the edge of insult at not being believed, her voice is lower, firmer, and just the edge of raw from so many hours of use.

There was no part of her that could or would let him. She would not have slept. If she couldn't do it herself, she'd find the others that could. She could not lose him like that.