Rosario's gaze flicked down to her hands again. The no sat leaden in the pit of her stomach – no; no, she most definitely wasn't alright – but if she caved to that admission, she didn't know what else would come crumbling with it.
Still, it was nice to be asked, she guessed. Apollo hadn't asked.
"So... is it a fate thing, then? Or is it more, like... degrees of probability?" She could feel the answer looming behind her even as she asked the question: no premonition to it, just the evidence she'd already been given falling into place. Apollo talking patterns, Homer talking fate. Rosario made a wry face. "You're gonna say it's both, right."