Vector startles a bit at the slam, reflexively looking up- wings going absolutely still under her verbal onslaught. There's a slight grimace to his expression, as well, despite his attempts to mask it; a chagrined distress that's only so well hidden.

What can he say to that, but the truth, as he has been, and hope that it at least tempers her rage?

"You are so much more than that- and how am I, who has cut themselves off for so long, to venture towards it once again after turning my back?"

His hands do not so much clench as curl before him, displaying his frustration.

"How am I to dare act as though nothing has happened when, in fact, that nothing is what has created this rift? What am I to rely on than the most base of memories, of function- you, as a master crafter, and I, as a meager warrior in desperate need of tools to serve my own purpose, and then hope that through this we can once again move past such simplicity?"

Because he doesn't know.