He hadn't thought to need a friend. Granted, Nigredo had always existed with niggling bouts of isolation, but he had never once entertained friendship as the solution. Either Senna or he was skewed in their thinking, and at this moment, the U.R.T.V. held no clue as to which was correct. Do you stay with what was familiar or step out to the unknown?

The train of logic reached a dead end. Nigredo fingered the wrappings on his left hand, as if to recall the broken trust associated with the injury. He could say many things to her words, but none seemed right. "I didn't know," he finally confessed. "I didn't think I needed a friend."

Because he was the type to be alone. To handle life and its waves alone. Not even his own family was a part of that so what made this any different?