She's startled by his hand on her wrist, startled enough that she obeys the motion, lowers the glass back down to the table. It's not often that she sees him like this. Wasn't often. It hasn't been often that she's seen him at all. She missed him so fucking much.

"I don't know if that's wise," she says quickly. "He's like Fring, but worse. More powerful. You know I'm all for burning things from the inside out but I don't want you in that position again, not ever."

Maybe he likes to pretend that didn't happen, but she hasn't forgotten finding him broken, left on the floor to die, torn up because of her. She won't ever forget it.