Jules is swirling her drink around the glass, watching the rise and fall and little patterns in the amber liquid, that way it dips around the ice. The glass stops swirling, and after a few moment, she slowly turns to train her gaze on Em, expression somewhere between neutral, and the subtle dangerousness that seems to seep out when the monster takes hold.

"Tainted by what?"

Her question is crisp. Precise, to meet Ilde's neatness.