His jaw tightens, briefly. She rewound. Scrubbed the conversation clean, and he can't even know what it is he missed. Just another person playing pinball with his memories, picking and choosing what he remembers. Like he's not used to that.

Great, he almost mutters, low and resentful, but that'd probably just make things worse. Make her feel guilty, or whatever. So instead he jams his hands into his pockets as he follows, shoulders hiking up to his ears in a shrug.

"Can't really stop you, I guess." And the sooner he accepts that, the better. Why bother trying to wrest control back from a life that's never given him any such thing? It's nothing new.

It's the same problem he's always had, from the same perspective.