Natasha presses her lips together around a slow bite of frozen yogurt. It's not bad—the dessert. She still gets a little of the tartness and the rest is appealing enough in terms of texture and temperature.

It also gives her an excuse not to respond immediately.

After finishing he bite, she does speak, her tone slow, still neutral but more understanding. "I know the kind of side effects you're talking about," she says. "I'm guessing he didn't warn you after he healed you up."