When I heard of her rescue I scheduled a meeting with her. I requested and gained clearance to be in charge of her security detail, and as I take a step back from her table I wonder if she has heard me. She peers at the plate in front of her, subtly moving her eyes over the contents. Shuffling in her chair, she glazes her hands over her sweatpants. The hospital shirt they supplied her is too big and scags over her beaten arms. Her soft eyes are ravenous, deep, and acute and the cut on her chin answers why.

“It’s alright. Go ahead.” I prompt.

Her eyes dash up to meet mine and they are filled, not by pain or fear or sorrow, but neutrality. Her eyes dart to the utensils on the tray, and she picks up the spoon with a shaking hand. She scoops some vegetables cautiously to her mouth, and let’s them sit. She swallows and lowers her spoon.

“Thank you.” Her voice is hushed with a hoarse tone.

“Of course.”

“Will you sit?”

I look down at her frail body and her hearty eyes.

“Can you sit with me?” She asks. “You owe me that much.”

I nod, and pull back a chair.

The hospital cafeteria is crowded, filled to the brim will healing refugees and soldiers. The newest arrivals, a few tables down, are stuffing their faces to an extent that two guards have to remind them to slow down. I’m surprised she isn’t joining them.

She delicately carries a spoonful of mashed potatoes to her mouth and swallows, eyes not leaving her plate. She wants to ask.

I sigh, letting the air escape to be consumed by the calamity of voices.

“Go ahead. I’m not going to hurt you for asking.”

She brings a spoonful of vegetables up to her mouth and stops. “There’s nothing to ask.”

I remain silent as she swallows the bite.

“But you seem like you would like to share, so go ahead and tell me.” She whispers nonchalantly. “Tell me how you helped the enemy bomb us. Tell me how you left me in an extermination camp to be starved to death. Tell me how you kept the truth from me all this time. Tell me how, Conrad.”

Her voice never rises above a weak, emotionless whisper.

I feel my heart beating in my chest. Guards at a nearby table glance up at us. “Arwen, they are the enemy, not me. I didn’t leave you to die-”

“Oh, the irony… The classic guilt trip.”

“Arwen, I-” I say reaching for her.

She backs away from my hand, as if the touch might burn the skin off her face. “They trusted you. They believed you. They taught us how to survive this war, and you turned your back on them.”

“It was my mission to-”

“To do what, exactly? Do you think everything they tell you is the truth?” Our eyes meet. “Because here is a fact for you, genius, nobody is above lying.” Her’s are fire.

I stand to leave, putting my hand on her’s and she recoils in horror. “Good day, Ms. Bridgers.”

I can feel her eyes drilling into my skull as I leave her alone in a room full of staring people.