Despite Woe's apparent unconcern, there is a minute shift in her shoulders when the android proves as incapable as her sister of raising a weapon against a human. It's less the unstitching of mortal terror and more the reprieve of being exempted from an errand, but it's more of an impact that Woe would be happy to know could be perceived. Perhaps that will count for something. It's more likely that it won't.

"Humans are a generally disappointing prospect," Woe says, frostily, "It is only by grace that we are saved, and through grace that we endure...among our many other foibles."

Dinah and the young man accompanying her wait for them under a cracked, dead streetlight. The young man is alertly impassive, taking everything in and projecting nothing out; Dinah is his inverse, fidgeting from one foot to another in distraction until she sees them turn the turn, her relief at seeing the face of Anna honest and clear.

"She didn't do a thing to you," Woe adds, frost plunged to degrees measured only in Kelvins, "Keep that in mind, whatever you call yourself."