She hears the question, but she's going under, making room, and she doesn't necessarily hear it. She'll explain later. She'll make it good later. For now, there's preternatural strength flooding through her muscles, all of the ghost's grief and loss and rage at a life cut short. There's a brick on the floor, not far from her foot, and she bends fluidly to pick it up, weighing it in her hand.

One of them, her or the grey, bares her teeth.