"Is losing it a goal of yours?" She hopes not. There's only room in her life for one wildly suicidal madman, and he's the one she cannot afford to lose. Cheris takes 'no traps' at face value, and rubs her still sap-sticky hands over the moss in the hopes of scrubbing the rest of it off. All it earns her is clumps of moss on her palms.

Inside of the ship, she aims the flashlight around them, quickly cataloging where she wants to start. "Let's get to work."