[Aubrey doesn’t want to see or hear this anymore.]

[The universe demands her attention for the montage—but as soon as it’s over she starts pacing, dragging her hands over her scalp.]

[After some half-legible “fuck this, I hate this, of course— he’s so stupid—” grumbling:] I’ll talk to him. Or— Do you even want that?

[She’s not mad at Armin at all; he’d be forgiven for thinking otherwise, the way she stops pacing, sharp, and her frustration fixes him in the crosshairs.]