Jules has a hollow expression, a shadow of a smile that could be called a mockery, if you knew her genuine ones.

"The thing is," and she's musing over thoughts she's had often, ones that made her question all the justification for what she was and what her family did, "the thing is. What makes us any more qualified to make judgement and bring down justice than anyone else?"

Beneath the surface, there's a painful twist in her expression. This is too open, too transparent, but she doesn't even care anymore. "What makes us capable of tearing down something, when we're capable of... of carrying out a sentence like that? Aren't we just the same?"