Man-Made Object

Isla is not a psychologist or a therapist, and the small tells - Nate's tone of voice, his thin smiles - are all but lost on her, engaged as she is in the body beneath her hands. "Oh - of course," she says, moving to lean down and bring out an extendable mirror, that he might angle it just so. Helping to get it into position before moving back to her explorations, Isla points out the neat positioning of biomachinery in place of squashy organs and flesh and blood. "You can see each fluid line too. It's so delicate," she almost whispers, glancing up at the humming, powerful core of the demigod, a finger dancing up towards his heart. "Luckily for you, I am not most people." She smiles warmly to him. "There aren't many people who can claim friendships on both sides of a brewing war - though I suppose both of us can. I have to ask, though - why did you go after Remi?" Isla's voice never changes, not even a fraction, and somehow the threat still feels present. ISLA when it's just the two of us, only the two of us, I could die