Last spark from the ashes

"I thought you were mad about my deal with Loki," Blaze admits. "At first. Least until I realized something was wrong." Her optics flit toward Ghost: serene now, but the memory of his frantic electromagnetic patter is burned into her circuits. A broken shadow of a man clinging to her...

"If you'd asked me-" She's not looking at Natasha, now; she's staring those phantoms in the face. "I'd have made the same call. You know that. I'd have been first in line to volunteer. Even if it meant giving Reynard something."

But knowing what would come after... she shakes her head. Focuses on Natasha, on the friend wrestling with her own demons in front of her.

"Did it work?" she asks. This is, perhaps, the part that matters most. Not for exonerating Natasha, but for deciding how Blaze can convince herself feel about it all. "Because Loki made out as if he thinks the crow-god lied to you. But I think, no matter how desperate we were, you're sharper than a whole brace of throwing knives. I wouldn't bet on fooling you. So. Do you think it made a difference?"