Wanda hadn't even thought about what she was going to tell Pietro, though it hadn't occurred to her that she wouldn't tell him about this. She didn't like it, but maybe it was better if she didn't mention it, helping Daimon was a stupid risk to take, after all, and she didn't think her brother would be very happy about it.
Her gaze followed Daimon's progress around the room but she remained at the window, watching him, until he stopped to thank her and she shrugged. "Well, it's not the first time I've done something like that," she smiled, though it was brittle, as she remembered other bodies in far away streets. People shot or burned by explosives, pierced by shrapnel, dying moans and prayers. She shook her head, physically banishing the memories scorched on her brain. Better not to dwell.
Wanda blew out a breath and raised her eyebrows, her smile more genuine now as she looked him over. "And, if we're being fair, you weren't exactly dying." Her fingers stretched out, hesitant, to brush a line along the spots on his chest and stomach where there'd been bullet wounds. Now there was nothing, all of it healed. Magic. Wanda had said it herself, but it had mostly just been an expression. What kind of magic did he mean? Spell books and fairy tales and witches, maybe. Just myths in stories and superstitions until now, like demons. But why not? She'd seen stranger things in the world.