"About your specific thing? No. I wasn't there. But I know a lot more than I want to about the ways people hurt kids in their care. And I can tell you that you were a goddamned baby when the Horde picked you up, and no baby or child is responsible for things adults do to them just because they can."

Her hand is still laying on the table in invitation, though she is downing her emotional support coffee with the other. This isn't usually how her midnight brooding sessions go, but, honestly? She appreciates the change. At least it makes her feel like she's fixing something in this hellhole. Helping someone, if she can't help herself.

"You were a baby when the Horde took you," she says again, and just barely hides her voice cracking; it's hard to keep certain memories away (hunger pain cold what's your name? brat! and the sharp slap of a hand on her face) and focus on what's in front of her. "So was Adora, sounds like. How can it be your fault? How can babies choose anything?"