She matches his bitterness blow for blow, nothing but contempt for the alien race who'd attacked her people. "Yeah, they weren't a welcoming bunch. Not that we made it any easier for ourselves. Factions— Outer Colonies, most of them— had the great idea to revolutionize while this was happening. Wars within wars. We couldn't even manage to hold ourselves together."

Humankind's propensity for dissevering never ceases to amaze, does it?

True Sight, Beholding; they're ancient-sounding words from ancient script she's never had the misfortune to read. "Banks must hate to see you coming."

And it's all innocuous enough; magic to unlock doors or see through mirages beyond her non-magical comprehension. Like a parlor trick. A practical skill, like York's. Then he continues. A natural propensity to see through things extends to fears, to people, and she goes cold. I can see through illusions, pick out small details.

The more someone doesn't want me to know something, the easier it is for me to see.

What a treasure-trove she must be, then. Her lifetime of masking, compartmentalizing and crushing her emotions to a fine, numb paste is suddenly rendered useless, and she feels naked. Seen, although she can't be certain what he sees, and somehow that makes it all worse. Carolina's flight instinct begs her to leave. To give him no more than crumbs. To wrap the thick black cloth over herself and disappear.

When she speaks, it's through a battled-tightened jaw.

"Sounds more like a curse than a blessing."