The grief showed on his face, though it wasn't clear whether he was disappointed that she'd refused his hand or dismayed at where the conversation had turned next. You didn't deserve them, he thought; he did not need to recall what was said on Halloween specifically to be certain of this. He couldn't fathom any situation in which Rosalie would deserve anyone saying something cruel to her, much less awful things, plural. But he couldn't find the words she meant in his mental inventory; he didn't remember. Maybe the limitations of the spell used the summon him, or maybe something else, but in any case he couldn't come up with the right context to give her a solid answer.

He raised both hands and ran them through the hair on the sides of his head. "I never thought you'd leave me," he pointed out — if they were on the subject of apparently impossible things that had since come to pass. "We're a long way off from where we should be, Rosalie." A long way off from what was right, and no way back — at least none that he could see. And anyway, he had no right to feel as anguished about it as he did; he was going to fade in a few more minutes, and it wouldn't make a bit of difference to him then what became of Rosie and his actual self, wherever he was.

But for the moment he was here, and while he was here he could not help but care deeply. Maybe not about his own future, since he had no stake in it now, but about her — about the visceral, current grief she had brought to the table in the diviner's room. "Why did you do this?" he asked, trying to meet her eyes. "What were you looking for? From me?"

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