Four years could feel like a lifetime. She knew. She'd been five when she got out of Teltin. She'd been nine when she'd escaped he slave pit. Thirteen when she was arrested for the first time. Four years could feel like an eternity in hell.

"It's not your fault," she said, looking at him soberly over the rim of her glass, "You know that, right? He was an adult and you weren't and there's nothing you fucking did that made it your fault what he did. He was an adult and he knew better than to look at a kid like that. Ever. Even if you didn't feel like a kid you still were one, and there's no excuse in the world for him lookin' at a kid like that. None. It wasn't your fault. If it had been some other kid, you wouldn't blame them and so you need to listen to me, Sparkle. It wasn't your fault."

Because she knew that feeling, too.