"Yes." She stares back at the impassive water, trying not to feel as though she is shrinking beneath the weight of the A.I.'s stare. "Almost everyone I have known is dead."

Dead, or lost to her.

For a moment her fingers tighten on the edge of lip of the pool, her knuckles blanching. Those memories are not for here or for now. Their weight is unbearable.

We all live with it, Mako, says Raleigh. We can always find 'em in the Drift.

But there is no Drift here.

"But all things die." She cannot look back at her. She does not want to see what might be in that woman's gaze. "Even machines. Not just humans. All things that feel die."