[Her gaze is pretty intense while she tries to puzzle out what he's intending to convey. It takes her a minute, and her hands repeat the blocking gesture vaguely.

And then she gets it. Her expression goes from that tense anger to something else, softer but no less serious. She's sad, and she's also scared. Because she sees no other way to make him understand her than to let herself be vulnerable to him.]

I had to.

[It's softly spoken, but she doesn't shy away from showing him her face. There are wounds on her soul, and they show in her expression.]

I've been in that position before. Strapped down, cut open, observed like your pain is nothing. I know what it's like. And sick or not, that was a living being. It's better to just die, than to suffer like that.