He tries to watch her, but his eyes are small in his head as the minutes have worn on, watery and weary and a little bit dumb. The paper between his fingers droops under the weight of fresh ink.

“I was reared to be disposable.”

Perspective tossed down out of the aether is what it is, matter-of-fact and miserable.

“I understand that humans have a more nuanced relationship with perseverance.”

...is a much nastier way of saying ‘I can hardly fault your logic,’ but he finally seems satisfied that they are on the same page.