"Do not waste your hate on that," he says, against her hair. "It was necessary to make me as I am." The Carapace, which allowed him to connect with his power armor, the thing that had spread itself under the very skin of his chest she was touching.

"Yours, however. I at least consented." In a manner of speaking. By being alive, at the trials, he consented to the rest. "You did not."