Cox waved a hand with a snort that fell far short of actually amused. "Oh yeah, they paraded out their little boy scout story about keeping you from coming back not-you, song and dance and encore all, and it was a load of crap as far as I'm concerned. Cremation, all right, but out came the salt and-"
He shook his head, rubbing at his face. This imagining was sincerely fucked up, even for his adapted definition of that. He reached out and poked her arm, brow furrowed, and then poked it again.
"You shouldn't feel so solid," he muttered, downing another drink.