"I don't want revenge," his voice is soft, eyes focused on something else entirely, something only he can see. "It's all I've done for seventy years, and not even my own. I'm tired."

Things he wrestled with, things that like tonight, kept him awake -- she makes so much sense in her approach to it. Even if she's young, she certainly isn't naive.

"But what about when I go back? When my brain takes me back? Is that really living?"