His first instinct is to tell her he's fine, of course he's fine, he can handle himself... but where he stands with her is becoming more complicated still. When he'd first begun hanging round her he'd mentally plugged her into the 'Ashford' part of his brain - someone to enjoy light interactions with, someone for whom he'd wear the face of the schoolboy untroubled by Geass and genocide and who'd never ever know just how dark he truly was... but she'd seen something of his worst traits now, skewed by that devil.

He's not fine. She's ten years younger and he should be the bigger one, the stronger one, but he's not fine. His shoulders sag lightly. There's no way to be both quiet and keep a distance in the nightclub so he's forced to step in, to place his hands on her small shoulders and lean down to tell her.

"I don't want you to apologise." He doesn't even know what he wants from her, sweet girl. Perhaps... just to rest in the quiet and dark together, to let it all sink in? But there's no time for that in Hell, not with another torture around the corner.

So he kisses her forehead, hoping she knows he's forgives her for being the victim.