Figures Daniel would be shocked and horrified. Eva expected that. She's glad. It means he hasn't seen or lived this sort of reality before. If the most he ever has to put up with is watching and navigating around the broken, hollowed-out little people filling up his life, he's at least better off than being the perpetrator or the victim. Maybe.

For a moment, she seems to deflate, realizing for the first time the inconvenience of the damage she just caused. "Help me drag him. We don't want him to bleed out on the floor. Any supply closet should have something we can bandage him up with."

That should be an innocuous enough excuse for Daniel to follow her lead. She knows what she wants to do next is going to drive a wedge between them, maybe permanently, but from the cultist's response to his injuries, she doubts he'll be compelled to speak by tea and cookies.

Her lungs feel leaden, making Daniel an accomplice, but why should he be exempt? Her own child wasn't exempt from war. There is no safety from it, and besides, Daniel isn't going to be the one getting his hands dirty.

She waves a hand in the man's face before grabbing him by the collar and his uninjured arm and starting to drag him, leaving a deep red trail pulled across the floor. "Yes, yes, we get it. The end is nigh, the end is nigh. If you think I haven't made my reparations for Hell, you've woefully underestimated the pessimism of this crew."