Celia sets her plate down on the table and picks up her coffee instead. She listens quietly to what Eugen has to say, her hands cupped around her own warm mug of coffee. She simply takes his words in, trying to make sense of what this means for her. For them.

And as much as she attempts to process her feelings, they come out muddled, confused.

It's all so frustrating.

"I don't," she begins to protest, her voice louder than usual. But just as quickly, her voice returns back to its quiet tones. "I don't want you involved with this."

She's looking down at her coffee, a muddied reflection of herself staring back up at her.

"I just don't know what I would do if you were injured."