[Elle tries to fight down the jealousy that's starting to bloom in her chest. It's... awful. It feels like gecko teeth gnawing on the inside of her chest. The Think Tank were able to fix hers. Why? Why? Was Benny's hand just that much more steady when he shot Elle? Was the wind different on the night Surely was shot, changed the trajectory of the bullets just enough? Why?!

She breathes in deep through her nose, exhales it heavily the same way. It doesn't matter, she tells herself. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.]

I... could. I know I could. But it... It wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't be... real. It wouldn't be the truth. I still wouldn't know.