Man-Made Object

"I do," Isla says openly, her admiration more than apparent as she gazes up at Nate. She'd almost expected him to stay standing, folding her hands in her lap and settling in to listen to his request. And when it comes, well; it would be a lie to say that there is a dark little glint of something that burns in the medic's eyes, an interest that will not be quelled. "And what do you suppose we ought to do, in order to realise your theory?" she asks, rising to her feet in a swift movement to hold out a hand to Nate. "Because I have an operating room, and I haven't used it since I got back from..." Death. Smiling up at him, Isla tilts her head suddenly, reaching up to rest a hand against his cheek. "What happened to your eye?" she asks, before stopping herself. "Don't worry about it. We can talk more while we work." While she does, indeed, cut him open, if that is really what he's asking. ISLA when it's just the two of us, only the two of us, I could die