She doesn't get a reaction, merely a curious, assessing look...one that sees the way her shoulders tense and her expression closes, slamming hard on something that will drown her if it gets out...

It's not obvious. He's just got sharp eyes--and he knows what that look feels like.

"Depends on how far before you're talkin'." he replies, and if she's really listening she might hear that little touch of East Coast in his accent, the promise of one around that dropped consonant. "Originally? Brooklyn. Lately? D.C., and in between?"

He pauses for a long moment, sobering.

"Enough scraps during the War to know those eyes, sweetheart." He offers her a sad, apologetic smile. "I don't mean to pry, I'm sorry. I just...did you serve, too?"