The weight of truth falls unevenly upon her. She feels it press, almost physically, and can't stop it. The only calming thought is the assurance, entirely internal, that she'll get her own back later.

"What's to be sorry about? There are so many people and they all get in the way. They wanted me to make the bomb, so I did. Not my fault-"

She can't say it. The truth stops her.

"Not my- mmph." She frowns, staring at her shoes, her hands rolled into tight fists.