It's Dimitri's turn to feel angry -- angry at his friend's suffering, angry at a stranger's cruelty, angry at an unfair world and angry because it's easier to feel rage on someone else's behalf than grief on his own. But anger is a motive force, and there's nothing he can do here. Darcy's murderer is long gone, unidentifiable, not even on this plane of reality, and thinking about tying the man's spine into as-yet-uninvented knots doesn't do anything to help the Darcy who is here, right now, on the couch next to him.

"I'm ... sorry," says Dimitri, feeling pathetic even as he says it. What good is 'I'm sorry' in the face of such an atrocity? Still ... it needs to be said.

Wanting to return the contact, unsure how, he settles a hand on Darcy's shoulder, lightly enough that she can shrug him off if she wants. "I can't tell you how to feel, but ... it's alright to feel strongly about it. Whatever that feeling is. What happened to you was unforgivable. Someone should have been there for you -- it should never have happened at all. I'm sorry you had to endure it."