[ hearing his promise, Ruby's eyes close for a moment, a sharp pinprick of bitterness shared between them: At least he's honest. it's an assurance that she can believe only because the loophole it offers is so generous. he will offer a hand now, and when the time comes that he withdraws his support, they will graciously agree that he did all he could for her. there is no such thing as "unconditional." she accepts that reality – her body is one she has made accustomed to living on scraps – and whether she means for it or not, that acceptance welcomes Zenith with it. she never has been very good at fighting against the inevitable.

the fact of the matter is that she doesn't just lack the willpower to resist Zenith when it is creeping through her veins with such soothing calm — she equally lacks the willpower to return to Meridian. if she had truly taken a trade, she fears she would have recoiled from that blazing light regardless of her intentions, an instinctive urge to flee into the dark. it's why it has taken her this long to make the attempt at all, and why she isn't surprised that this is where she finds herself in the end. she can't blame Jonathan Sims for it; her fears are her own, even if he has pried them from her. the only thing he's done that she can object to is knowing her, seeing the miserable kernel that lies beneath all her lovely layers. ]

... I was never a very good Meridian. I can't pretend to believe, and since I'm not willing to fight for the cause, they've never much liked me. [ she doesn't sigh – the weight pressing down on her is too heavy to allow her breath to release – but something seems to give. ] I guess that in Zenith, at least, nobody will think I'm committing genocide by not trying hard enough.

[ Rudbeckia extends her hand to John as a lady would: downturned palm, dainty fingers extended. ]