She twitches a shoulder in a slight, noncommittal shrug as he goes ahead and picks through the faint digital signature of her new life, and takes the opportunity to drain the remainder of her drink in a burning, pungent rush.

"An archangel," she says, lifting one eyebrow. "Yes. I'm staying in his building."

She hesitates and, with a minor decline in the social confidence she's recently begun to exude, frowns, a small crease of concentration appearing on her forehead. She feels a little more herself.

She is herself. That is what she has always been.

"I did not know he had a brother," she admits.