He watches her as she speaks, expression shifting—his stance, once tense and withdrawn, slowly eases, uncertainty creeping into his features.

"…I don’t blame anyone for how things played out,” he admits finally, his voice quieter now. “And I—” A pause. He glances at Drake, then exhales. “Maybe I did end up making things harder. Maybe I should’ve communicated more, I wasn't...”

He lets out a tired chuckle, shaking his head.

A beat. His fingers flex, then release.

He's not apologizing to him about it. That is for sure. He has no reason to believe in Drake's intentions but...one thing that does set them apart is the fact that as a team things might have been different. He glances back at Drake, but this time, the bitterness in his tone is weaker—less sharp, less defensive. More like someone who has simply been caught off-guard. “All those strategy meetings when you discussed retreat...I was included? Not when I was help- meddling with all of you- I made that choice knowing what it would have costed, before that."

Because all he wants to be certain about is that people like Drake would just want him dead.

Which is wrong to assume out of anyone. It goes against everything he's ever stood for for wanting to give others a chance. For all those in pain who lash out in non-descriptive ways.

"My mind is hazy on all the details..."

He goes back into his pocket and pulls out an apple juice. Damn jitters. He curses himself as he rips out the straw and pokes it into the box but he is not letting Drake weigh down on him again.