Greta frowns in disapproval. "Not if the Rift took you, first," she says shortly. "You could have been Oswald. I could have been dead, but I'm not tromping off to the Park with a shovel to dig myself a grave."

It's not a perfect comparison. She still mourned the loss of the life she could have had, and she doesn't really expect the Balladeer to easily shake off the knowledge of what could have been, either. But here, now, his supposed crimes seem as distant and unreal as her own supposed death. He can't dwell on it forever.

She leans over to put her glass on the coffee table, then fixes the Balladeer with a look that wavers somewhere between anxious and stern. "Listen to me. I don't know why it happened, but I do know that you are not Lee Harvey Oswald. You are the Balladeer, and you're my friend, and you're a good man. Oswald wouldn't have taken in Steven - he certainly wouldn't have strolled into ROMAC, unarmed, to rescue me. You're not the same person. And whatever would have happened in your universe," she grimaces, because it really is a terrible universe, "you deserve to be free of it."

Is any of this getting through? She lets her hand drop with a sigh. "Maybe the Rift did us both a favor, bringing us here."