[He turns to her and there's a weariness about him that wasn't there before, a tiredness in this mortal-presenting body that portrays all the stress he feels out of it. His facade crumbles at the edges, no longer polished down to the minor details. None of that matters, not when the horizon is bleak.]
I should've known, I should've predicted it. Day 437, it had all the symptoms, the suggestion to hint at it. If I had taken precautions then, had we moved or put those files in temporary limbo we could've preserved them too. Maybe never have found a way to keep them and the others together, but they'd... at least...