Kavinsky kept his arms crossed tight over his chest, let the hurt of those words burn in him. He'd done this to himself, but that didn't soothe the ache of it at all. His mind swarmed with things to say, but they all sounded very hollow, or very stupid, even in his own head. Excuses and deflections and a hundred things that couldn't make any of this better.

"I would trust you," he finally said, curling his knees up to his chest. "If you had done something like this. I would still trust you."