[ her memories respond to his, helplessly. dirty, cold streets. useless rags that are meant to pass for clothes. pervasive hunger.

what wretched, miserable lives. ]

… true. And I’ve done that, certainly. … but we’re meant to be more than our base impulses, hm?

[ she doesn’t want to return to those streets.

his question wins a more sincere smile. ]

I’m safe. I have shelter. Thank you, Ivan.