A flash of metal. Click, flick. Like a tiny engine igniting or the flash before the pow and smoke of gunfire. She likes the smell; fuel and hot metal. "Terrible for your breath, too."

Wait. Did she hear him right?

Carolina turns in her seat to face him, elbows pressed against knees. "So if I walked off a cliff, or you crushed my head under one of your print presses, I'd come right back?"