Katherine could barely speak, let alone respond to everything Lysander said. She just nodded her head, pressing her lips together to hold back her tears, looking at the ceiling. "No, no, Lysander, do not be sorry. You were gone, and you could not have known." Her voice was cracking and her words fuzzy. Had it really been so long since she'd thought about her father's death? It seemed like eternity. "No. Not to this day," Katherine murmured, "but it doesn't matter now. It could not change anything." She still had her wits about her, and Eward's words about Lysander made her worry that he'd go berserk if she told him that she, the little girl he'd protected in her childhood, prayed for the killers to be found; he'd go after them, and it was pointless.