When Donnie says something that cuts through the oldest Russian joke there is, her hand at the roller stops, because it hits her.

He believes it.

He really does think that his actions will matter, in the wider context.

And he wasn't much smarter than she was.

For a moment, she can almost feel something, and then she shivers, chilled to the bone, and keeps turning. She doesn't know how to deal with it, with him, deciding to wipe the blood from his knuckles and keep going. "... Perhaps."

Another casing rattles into the tray, cylindrical and even.