She keeps asking these things because they don't compute. Or rather, they don't process. The information is there but it's hard to absorb any of it. It's hard to absorb that she's walking arm-in-arm with a murderer. One that helped her none-the-less and likes opera. Another that shot up an entire club of criminals and then could tell you their favorite Frank Sinatra song. It went so beyond what she's seen in the news and movies.

It was supposed to be easy to discern who the evil people were. But like everything, people were like watercolors, reds running into blues, mixing with yellows. Absolute evil, like an absolute good...well, it didn't exist.

So she does only what she can, she contextualizes, making people a complex tapestry, but that also blurs right and wrong...

Ezera squeezed her eyes shut when he said that he had been ten. She doesn't want to know. But, yes, she does. She wants to understand.

"Tell me?" She asks a little uncertainly.