There's a little fear, there, but... he's not like David. She's almost entirely sure he's not like David. He's gruff and if she left or ran, she feels like he wouldn't follow her. He wouldn't speak too-sweet words to her and talk about fate. He hasn't tried to butter her up or anything.

She takes a deep breath, and scoots away a little on the sofa, curling into a protective ball, her head resting on the arm. There's a throw pillow somewhere, and between that and her body, she takes out her knife. Not holding it in protection or warning. The switchblade is still retracted. It's for her own peace of mind, if anything.

She nods slowly. "Logan?" She says, "Thanks. For- for not making me say... everything." She rubs at her eyes with her free hand. "I will someday..." If one of them doesn't die, which seems unlikely in the extreme, so it's a safe promise to make.