There's a quick draw of breath when he pushes her back, a flinch that even Solomon has probably never seen before--but she lets it go with a shaky exhale, staring up at Ambrose with dark wounded-animal eyes. Her hair is wet and tangled around her face, and she's almost trembling with memory suppressed, memories she can't have.

"I don't understand." But she has information, and from information she can form a hypothesis. "What don't I remember? What--"

Leila stops, abrupt, swallowing hard.

"Ambrose, am I her?"