Liz pushes herself up, too, sitting cross-legged with the blankets in her lap and her arms folded. "No, I think that's exactly what you meant," she says, and there is something a little (a lot) like stubborn hurt in the set of her mouth. She says stuff like that all the time; Red doesn't.

"It's not 'when' I lose it. It's 'if.' I'm getting better at this; it's not like I've had a lot of experience standing around people who can throw fire."

Her expression has determinedly shifted into just plain stubborn. "The plan is to start slow; no fire. I'm not stupid, Red."