[She reaps out a thin, easy noise so like a laugh it must be one and then drops her hand.]

We hope it doesn't come to that.

[Cavalierly said, as light as the turn of her wrist or the casual slope of her shoulders. It'd be a joke if there wasn't some bitter, brutal undertone lurking in it. Maybe it still is. Either way, she past it without a shred of hesitation and - smiling still - places her hand in such a way between them that it would be easy for him to take if he wished to. A dangling line. A hook.]

In any case, we are unconcerned. She will learn and adapt or she will grind herself down to dust. We have seen it before.

[Her gaze doesn't waver from him, but her attention does - that razor sharp hone gentling as some disparate pieces of her thin away elsewhere.]