Persephone turns from him and does not reply. She's done. This is over. His offer is noted and tucked away. As she walks away from the desk, the gods who made a mess of all these things, moss and the tiniest spiky flowers spring from where her bare feet touch the stone floor. Her power, always nearer the surface during emotion, leaves a mark that will stubbornly refuse to be removed.

"Sorry I got so loud Than." She holds out her hand to him, unsure if he still wants to take her anywhere with the literal and figurative mess she's made.