The man was in earnest. She didn't know everything about Piotr Rasputin, but she knew warriors. He was one. And warriors with that expression - the resolute jaw, the unwavering eyes - meant every syllable. Her mouth softened, and if there weren't quite a smile there, there was less tension in her from the change.
"I know," she said quietly.
Circumstance had thrown them together in the strangest way. She was forced to rely on him, required to place her very life in his hands without knowing much about him at all, but the gamble had more than paid off. She had not earned his loyalty; she'd proven nothing about her ability as one who deserved respect and solidarity. And yet, he'd given her all this, and more.
Was this what friendship was like? She simply didn't know. She'd seen friendship from the outside, and from that perspective, it seemed similar. She'd never lived it. And now, she found herself selfishly wishing that, were she ever to see Kenyon again, she hoped it was with Piotr Rasputin at her side. That thought did make her smile, though it was with a wistful sadness that gave no trace of what smiles were meant to convey.