He knows she won't be expecting him to say he's sorry. Hell, he's a little surprised at himself for saying it in the first place - but there it is, out of his mouth and hanging in the air between them like a tangible thing. Something he could reach out and touch if he really wanted to.

It isn't forced. Just a little strained, because he doesn't make a habit out of being sorry for anything. Especially things that aren't necessarily his fault.

He doesn't respond to what she says first, because it's what he deserves. Even if it has the hair on the back of his neck standing on edge, jaw muscles tightening even further as he continues to grit his teeth.

"That it wasn't your fault, and you didn't deserve it." He doesn't have any right to excuse or justify - or forgive anything his dead uncle had done until she'd managed to bring him back from the dead, but it doesn't keep him from saying it.