There is.

A long silence. Even Erin's gunpowder just stops, hanging unburnt in the air in a powdery haze.

"I would sell my good left foot for eyes to blink at you with right now," she says at last, with a touch of awe, a hint of disbelief. "... Doesn't my new home deserve honesty, from me? Am I not making friendships on false pretenses? I don't want them passively assuming I'm some, some scarred hero who lurched here after the long fight against evil."