She surfaces slowly, her lungs burning but still unwilling to give up the warm safety of the milk which makes her feel so cradled. Her head breaks the surface first, dark hair slick against her skull, and then her pale shoulders. When she sees him, she skitters back against the edge of the crucible, making it rock alarmingly on its base, the liquid inside sloshing alarmingly. For a moment, she thinks he's a gray, but there's something too vital about him, too close to the surface. Just a man, then. A man she's never fucking seen before.

"Where the hell is Dawes?" she says.