She'd nearly said something about how she's not the one who lets herself be turned by the blowing of the wind, but discarded it as too petty and disingenuous--because the rollercoaster ride that is Mitchell's mood swings never fails to startle her.

For a second, she just looks at him, amber eyes unsure. But then she lifts her hands, pressing them against his shoulders, knowing that there is blood on his clothes, on him. Blood doesn't frighten her.

"You're important to me. This thing between us...we say it's not serious, but I care about you, I don't feel--I don't feel not serious." She doesn't know what she feels. Scared, mostly. That part was true in so many ways. Sotto voce, now, with blurred edges, the soft, clear, higher register appearing in her voice that comes only when she's earnest this way.

"We're going to have to be strong, now, in the face of what will come."