"Get it?" she finishes. "Yeah. I know. But believe it or not, it is on me. You're lucky you didn't get saddled with some genocidal maniac."

For a fleeting instant, she wishes she was one. It'd be easier. It'd make her feel like less of a joke –– big contraband boss, reduced to some fool who chooses to care now, after she'd already thrown kerosene on the flaming shit-pile that was their world.

"I actually give a shit, I don't do any of this for laughs," she says, and she almost feels like she has to convince herself a little. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do to be a better person. I don't know what that looks like."