[Mumbling something incoherent, he starts rubbing the bridge of his nose absently, like it would stop the headache from forming. Before he answers, though, he stands up and towers over her, grabbing her good arm by the shoulder. He's glaring down at her with a cold gaze, and it's not Reno, her husband there. It's Reno the Turk, the same one that spoke to her that fated day in October, when he had told her of his plans.]

I'm not going back, Elena. It's over.