[ All the gods Matt's met seem to be aligned on this point: mortals shouldn't have to make decisions on this scale. (Quetzalcoatl was the first one to tell him as much.) Matt agrees, frankly. And yet here they are.

He hums again, gentler, when Tezca's cheek presses to his leg. Moving on to another section of hair, he repeats the process of carding his fingers through, working small tangles loose. ]

I don't know about should or shouldn't, [ Matt notes quietly. ] But I definitely think you deserve the same options as all the rest of us. [ A quirk of his lips. ] That's the labor perspective, anyway. Everybody gets compensated for their work.

[ Normally, Matt wouldn't ask his next question. Or at least he'd hem and haw some before he did it. But now, lulled by intoxication and proximity, he goes for it. ]

There was one person you wanted to save? Or like--bring with you, to whatever's next?