She flicks her gaze up to the scars on his face, studying them without a hint of shame or discomfort. Her eyes narrow as she thinks, a slight frown on her face.

It isn't pleasant to think about. Raylan isn't Jeff, isn't Hardison or Eliot, but for some reason the thought of him dying, disappearing entirely, is distressing in a way she hadn't predicted it would be. So she's not going to accept it. Not going to let it happen.

"Did you die here last time? When you got - " She gestures at his face. "That?" It's fine, Raylan, you wanted to chat about your own death with a near-stranger today, right?