Her eyes narrow, and she leans forward a bit, hands curled around her shot glass. The shimmer of his memories stings like salt in a fresh wound.

"Lyonya," she begins, and hesitates. "I am not a god. I can die." She thinks she can, anyway. She long ago ceased fearing the day when that might happen. "But it will not be on your watch."

It's much more likely that she will give up on this world and simply walk into the Gloom, never to return.