Natasha is only too aware of the blood. She can smell it. Her expression is reserved—she's too good to give anything away easily. Even her pulse doesn't pick up. Her teeth itch, though, aching right down to the root.

"Maybe that's why I came," she says. Her voice is even. Her gaze is steady. "Because I didn't know what to expect."

And maybe she should have expected this. But she didn't, because she didn't understand why.