"No, it's alright," Jyn says quickly, almost automatically. It isn't, not really — at least, what happened isn't, in both of their cases; his bringing it up isn't anything she can fault him for at all — but she doesn't make a habit of dwelling on her losses or personal tragedies outside of her own head. To do so would leave her too vulnerable, and there have been too many of them. He is lucky, she thinks, that someone disappearing under such circumstances has only happened to him once, but the fact of that doesn't make that one loss any easier to bear, and she wouldn't hold it against him. She's just been particularly unlucky, in this place as well as before it. Besides, it makes sense that so many of the comparatively few people she attaches herself to would have backgrounds like her own, untimely deaths included.

That is a fact she knows better than to drop into somewhat casual conversation, especially when he's struggling with the loss of his friend. This isn't about her or her grief or how she died, no matter how haunted by it she may still be; neither is it about any of the people she tries hard not to grieve. It's not a competition. It's just a messed up, painfully unfair situation. People leave, and they die, but here, there's an utter randomness to it that makes it all feel even worse.

"I mean, it doesn't. Get easier," she adds, mentally wincing at her own awkwardness. Putting words to a thing, making sense of what's in her head, has never been her strong suit. "But there's nothing for you to be sorry for. It happens, and it's always awful. No matter how common it is or if it happens once or a whole bunch of times."