"No, that's..." it's not right. It's not the reason she needs, something to focus on, something to hold onto. She's so tired, she can feel herself fading, falling, lost in a dark little room in her heart.

The creature, the demon, the fallen angel, she has endless sources of energy. She is an eternal being, waiting and watchful. She looks up with Joan's eyes, slow and careful, trying to imitate that tiredness. She is older than the desert sand, but not a terribly good actor.

Not a terribly bad one, either. "Maybe it's... because of you? Because you weren't doing your job."