Illya wants to take it seriously. She seems to mean it, the words coming out of her like every single syllable hurts deep in her soul to pronounce. And he knows, better than some, that it’s hard to convince your logical brain when your very emotional heart has already made a decision. But still the idea of her being rotten seems just impossible, to him. To say the least.

“I am resilient. You can share with me, I will survive.” He tilts his head. “Though it looks like you do not have much of an option.

And… part of me does. Part of me will always love Russia. It is who I am, it is how I was raised.”