She dresses quickly, with her back to him, and in the early morning light, he can see four parallel lines, pale silver, stretching across her kidneys and down around her hip. So faint, they're almost gone. Something big got a piece of her not that long ago. Probably six months, if she was human.

"Maybe," she drawls. "I will reserve judgement."

There's a knock at the door, and Olga opens it just enough to receive the tray with two mugs of coffee. "Spasiba."