Melanie isn't used to people apologizing to her. It's not something that happens, and she doesn't know the words she's supposed to say in response. Especially now, because she doesn't think he would be telling her sorry if he knew what had happened to her parents. To her mother. She lifts her shoulders in a slow, uncertain shrug.

"It... wants to," she says. "But I haven't done it here, yet. This is rabbit." She indicates the blood all down her front. "But nothing smells as good as people. That's what the fungus wants. It's how it spreads." It's uncomfortable, talking about it like a separate thing when it's part of her. It's not quite lying, but it feels close. Except Melanie doesn't want to hurt people, and she definitely doesn't want to cause another outbreak.

She can believe that Darrow is someplace entirely outside her own world. That isn't hard; it's proven every second. But someone just saying they have magic is a little harder to swallow, and Melanie's brow furrows. "Magic?" she repeats, as if to make sure she hasn't misheard him. "That's just in stories."