She sighs, watches him for a long moment, quiet as she nurses her gin. He's right -- even if she would like her father back, it's a big 'maybe' as to whether she would actually go through with it. There was something to be said for running your own life. Even as an adult, she never would have had that freedom if he'd lived.

"I'm sorry," she finally says, turning her gaze away. "For yelling at you, before. It was my first day, I was on edge. But it really is my name. I'd show you in those books about us, but mine is just gibberish. They tried to write it in Russian."