She uncharacteristically catches her recoil, although a flash of it still thunders through her. Bless Nina Zenik and her performance being one of the last few things she witnessed before waking here.

The Alina she knows would say the same words, but the delivery would differ. Softer, more understanding. Perhaps even amused. She'd take to Zoya as though she was trying to calm a storm.

The idea of staying with Morozova makes her skin feel heavy like it's covered in sap again. Even if she were made to, she wouldn't last a day. She'd smother him in his sleep—a mercy he doesn't deserve—for the pain he has caused the young woman in front of her, Genya, Nikolai, Marie and Harshaw and the countless Grisha he has killed. For that bloody cat. For Liliyana. Even for herself.

Instead, she tugs her shoulders back to anchor herself in a very violent storm that threatens to overtake her. She can't respond as she wants to—with a laugh—because the response will only force the chasm that exists for Alina even wider between them.

Instead, she settles on:

"Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?"

It's biting enough, although it lacks the sharp crackle of lightning that often accompanies Zoya's anger.