Karin's mind raced, wondering if she might somehow put a name to his other confidante. With nothing to go on but gender, it was a nigh impossible task. Perhaps, she thought, it was better not to know. Ceasing this line of thought, her mind clutched hold of another similarly small scrap of information: places I have never been, he had said. Again the island came to mind, that damnable stretch of land whose shores she could never seem to reach. The thought of getting there obsessed her, enough that she had considered bringing it up to Fee. If anyone could brave the authorities and slip away, under cover of night or in bright light of day, it would be Fiona Shepherd. Karin made a mental note to speak with her sister on this.
Such rabbit trails consumed her for a moment, and for a brief span Karin did not realize she had been asked a question. When it registered - a beat too late, and muddled as if coming from a great distance - she immediately shook her head, dark locks shaking like a mane around her face. "No," she said. "My family are in Chicago. This is my home now. I won't run from this." The bravado in her words rang hollow; he knew what she faced, and at least a portion of what she feared. There was no-one here to impress, yet still she kept up the facade. If her voice cracked, stretched thin, it was only for a moment - or so she told herself. "I have to learn to cope. Immersion therapy, I think some call it." She laughed, a mirthless little sound. "No, no. I appreciate what you're trying to do, Mr. Sandoa, but running won't help what's happening to me."