She presses her lips into a faint smile. She believes him. Or… at least, she believes his conviction. She’s been in this world too long by now— Saints, she’s more than halfway toward an entire year here— to truly think they had any choice in the matter of going home.

Still.
The sentiment is nice, and she knows he means it, with every ounce and fiber of his being. That matters more than the result in this moment.

She squeezes his fingers in her own, a simple, silent reassurance. An acceptance of his promise, both spoken and not.

“Where are you staying? Or have you even gotten that far yet?”