Anathema processes all that while she fixates on a particular smudge of dried blood on Sal's jaw, wipes it away with her thumb, carefully working to clean up this evidence of all the endless, endless fighting and injuries. "This, for the record," she starts, slowly picking her way through her words, half-teasing, "is why we don't fuss with ineffable magical relics that we aren't entirely sure how they work."

Then again. Anathema's own curiosity always got the better of her, and who's to say she wouldn't have fallen into the same damn trap if an opportunity like that had been dangled in front of her? So she stops, props her elbows against her knees and cocks her head thoughtfully. Reassesses, and then admits exactly that: "Although. Fair's fair: I probably would've done the same thing, if someone was trying to make things better."

It twists her heart into fitful knots, knowing that Sal was apparently lied to. Again. Manipulated. Again. Whenever someone hires someone else to do their dirty work, perhaps they're always inherently untrustworthy in some way.

"It sounds like you were trying to do a good thing, at least. For what you thought was a good cause."