She's eleven. He actually feels his knees go weak. Eleven, and here she is talking so calmly about serving a group of people who thought that dropping an orbital colony was an acceptable method of-- protest?-- and about never letting it happen again.

Eleven. Rust and ruin.

He goes down to one knee in front of her (lest he just drop, otherwise) and reaches out to grasp her shoulders. "That's wrong," he tells her, gruff and intense and absolutely aching inside.