"Who else would it be?" he echoed. It WAS Re-L, his senses be damned, and he'd seen her without makeup enough times on those mornings in the Rabbit that such a trivial difference wouldn't affect his ability to recognize her. The question was unfair, he supposed. The last time he saw her they had only just met his progenitor, and perhaps she had no way of knowing who had survived that encounter.

"It's me. I'm okay. Some thing attacked me. It's just a scratch, but it's not healing." Which was impossible, as Re-L knew. He let go of his arm, showed her the torn cloth and flesh.