Through the grate, Xian appeared as a collection of squares: graph paper Xian, toting a metal leg. “It’s not my fault,” Elektra shot back, her jaw set in defiance of an accusation that hadn’t been made, not yet, but she was sure was coming.
“Octane should’ve stayed out of it.” That much she had decided even before they were backed into a corner. If he’d kept his distance, then he would still be alive. She might not be, but that wasn’t his problem. It hadn’t been his problem the last time, either. Or Xian’s. Or Cora’s.
All those times someone had carried her body to safety or sat by her until she came back from the dead - it didn’t need to be done. She would’ve been just fine without it.