Whatever she thought she might hear, that definitely wasn't it. Death is an elusive concept for her. All things that are alive will one day not be, and she knows this, but she isn't held to the same sort of mortality.

Because she isn't alive.

"I'm sorry," is the first thing she can think of to say, woefully inadequate as it is. Chloe's hands clasp together and rest in her lap to again stop her from reaching out. "Do you..." All of the dozens of questions she could ask feel dreadfully inappropriate.

"If there's a story to be told, I'm happy to listen." It's only an invitation rather than attempting to pry, giving the woman the space to vent or try to make sense of things if she wants to.