[She hums softly in thought. The logic wasn't for him to understand. It didn't matter. She understood it.

And she wanted to be rid of it. The longer it remained, the thinner it stretched until it turned too tense.

What is she afraid of? Isha is not a particularly fearful person. Heights, dogs, clowns, none of that was a parasite to her mind.

What is she so afraid of?

The endlessness of it all. The cycles that could never break once they begin.

The weakness in her character.]

Blood begets blood. I am not like you. I have no armor. No training. No serum. I'm a thief from the broken streets of London that had nothing for too long. All I have is me, and the reputation that precedes me.

[Her eyes flicker. Isha built herself into this over the course of her life. This greater-than-life figure, this anarchist, this thief, this freedom-fighter, this blackmailer. No one knew her, except for what they wanted her to be. She could not afford anything or anyone to break this. It would be the end of her.]

The ones you love can hurt you the most. You have great, overt enemies. I have insidious ones. I can't have that blood on my hands. It would never end.

[And she knows it wouldn't because she would do the same if anyone dared to cross her or anyone she knew.]