[She huffs. They're doing this, then. She stares carefully at the pitiful wreck of a woman ironically named Mercy and yet offered absolutely none when it counted most. She assumes Patience's grief is a lie, but Ianthe thinks that for everything he said about her, everything he felt about her, Patience was the only one in the universe left who gave a fuck that she was dead. John grieved, in the self indulgent way he grieved anything, and that was proof enough that she never mattered.

She won't reveal her former teacher's secret. Call it a twisted sense of loyalty. And she won't laugh, or sneer, or defend herself. She only cocks her head, and wears a patient smile.]

Was I supposed to? I'm only an infant, aren't I? What could I have done? [She taps her skeletal hand against her chin.]

But no, for your information, I left him to die. And I'd do it again, a thousand times over.