It is clearer now that Diya's cool impassivity is guarded rather than merely distant. She's caught off guard, badly, and rough around the edges, too -- that impassivity is still betrayed by the uneven pinch to her mouth, her still-thready breathing. The way she clutches that letter to her chest does not speak of unshakable composure.

"Not at all." A lie. Diya always feels intruded on whenever she is approached unawares, when she cannot control the way people see her. She misses her force bubble fiercely. But she lost that privilege when the Dowager Empress saw fit to cull her from the Navarr constellation. "It is ideal for quiet moments. The rather sterile barracks lack the tranquility."

She averts her eyes from Natasha, knowing the other woman is only following what social protocol she knows by not looking directly at the haut, and looks down at the bed of snowdrops. "Do you have any particular interest in botany, Natasha?"