Corvo could hear Elizabeth moving around in the tub, behind the divider. It had seemed prudent to give her some time to herself, and he sharpened his blade as he reviewed the night's events.

Was Elizabeth touched by the Outsider? She bore no mark, he'd seen enough of her to know that. Yet she'd affected reality in ways that were remarkably similar to his own abilities.

Even if she wasn't, he doubted she would evade the Outsider's notice for long, assuming her mission didn't get her killed. He had questions, most of which he knew would go unanswered for now, so he set his blade on the table as he heard Elizabeth climb out of the tub.

She stepped around the partition, skin glistening and water trailing down her body in rivulets. Elizabeth's eyes were sad, her lips thin and tense. "I wish I could stay."

"You're welcome to," Corvo said, trying to neither look enraptured or sound desperate. "Or to come back."

Elizabeth walked to him, rubbing her hand on his shoulder before she pushed him into the chair and straddled his lap, cupping his face. Her skin was warm and slick under Corvo's hands as he stroked her back and stared into her eyes. "I don't want to talk anymore."

Corvo knew then that there would be no answers. Elizabeth was a mystery that would puzzle him until she returned. If she returned. Corvo slid a hand around, palming her breast, his other hand drawing her head down, so he could taste her lips.

Elizabeth kissed him back, feverish and needy, and if he couldn't give her what she needed he could at least give her something she wanted. So he stood, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her through the doors to his balcony. Goosebumps rose in the chill and Corvo rubbed his hands over every available inch of her skin as he set her on the railing.

She broke the kiss, raising her eyebrows, but saying nothing as she watched him remove his trousers and shirt. Elizabeth reached for him when he got close again, hand wrapping around his length, catching his mouth with hers again as he groaned.

Corvo held Elizabeth close as she wrapped herself around him, dangling precariously on the edge of the railing as he hilted himself in her. She didn't move and neither did he, savoring the warmth of her body and the feel of her around him.

"God…" Elizabeth breathed against Corvo's lips. She tightened her legs around him, his skin burning as she dug her nails into his shoulders.

She would make him bleed again, but he was looking forward to it.

After all, when you bled you were alive.

Music drifted softly through the room, distant and tinny, as though from some kind of music box. Elizabeth could smell salt and steel, feel the damp air on the other side of the tear in reality she'd opened.

She looked down at her left hand, at the missing pinky. Wrong hand, Comstock had said. Like he'd been expecting another Elizabeth. A different one.

Kneeling, she picked up her pack and after a moment's hesitation shoved Corvo's shirt into it. She stood, staring at him.

But he didn't stir; if wearing him out last night hadn't done it what she'd snuck into his drink would keep him out for a few hours. He'd ask her questions, he'd say the right things and do the right things and she might actually stay.

"You still got a chance, Liz. Ain't gotta finish this."

Booker again. Standing near the window, hands in his pockets and a cocky smile on his face. She looked at him. "I have to finish this."

"It's not for you. Let someone else do it."

"It has to be me."

He shook his head. "No. It doesn't. It can't."

Elizabeth turned away from Booker, missing the way his eyes turned black.

But she didn't look back as she stepped through her tear and into Rapture. A small part of her at the back of her mind knew she'd never see Corvo again. A little more time would have been nice. To see if there might have been more between them than two ships meeting in the night.

Pushing that thought away, she started to move. In the crowd she saw a man looking at her, his eyes black, but when she blinked he was gone.

Elizabeth was out of focus, her vision flickering and fading like a superimposed photograph. The world was tilted, her head fuzzy and throbbing. Everything spun and she blinked her eyes, seeing herself stretched out, a thousand thousand Elizabeth's in every direction, each one of them dying.

And they'd almost all failed to kill the last Comstock, as she had.

All except for one, propped up by the little girl she'd saved, the pinky missing from her right hand.

Everything flickered again, fresh blood on her nose and Elizabeth struggled to open her eyes. There was a rift, small and fragile, wavering and on the verge of collapse.

There was a figure on the other side of that tear. Two figures sitting on a rooftop. A man and a woman.

A smile crossed Elizabeth's blood painted lips. So there was a chance. Infinite probabilities and one singular chance. But not for her. She lifted her hand, the effort alone enough to hasten her demise, and the tear grew.

The world became foggy again, each breath feeling like her last. Forcing herself to stay conscious, Elizabeth focused on that single spot, that single fulcrum where herself and all her counterparts came together. And then static was filling the air, filling her ears and Elizabeth was lifting her hand; like a shattered house of mirrors in every direction and across infinite realities Elizabeth lifted her hand.

Elizabeth lifted her hand and the tear stabilized. "Go," she rasped. "Take the chance."

And the best of them, the first of them, the one that they were all mere copies of, fell through the tear. She dropped like a stone, saved only by the quick reflexes of both Corvo Attano and Emily Kaldwin.

The tear winked out and Elizabeth smiled as a hand stroked over her hair, black eyes studying her face as the darkness took her.

That was another constant in the universe: That there was always darkness. That as long as humans lived there would be those who took and hurt and harmed. But there was also light. Hope.

Hope and second chances.