Monsters, cowards. Descriptors she seems keen to apply to herself as much as any, unwarranted if what he's seen is indicative of anything.

His forearms rest against the edge of the pool, the slow intake of breath steady as he considers what she says and how acutely she stresses it, as if walking the line between sincerity and pain— or perhaps something that only sounds like it to his ears.

"You think my judgment misguided?"

A pause, before:

"...or is that only when I deign to speak of you."