Devin quirks a smile, something small and sharp at the edges. "No pulse to speak of."

The smile doesn't fade with her answer, only grows more intrigued. The Foreigners were an odd bunch, and they had all gone through one ordeal or another, it seemed. What Sheena is claiming is arguable one of the more grim experiences a person could have.

"You're rather spry for a dead girl," he says, wry. Then Devin breathes out in a rush, and looks out at the canal again. "I understand the persistence of nightmares, however. Sometimes it's very difficult to tell what is real and what is imagined. The brain doesn't always distinguish those very well. What happened to you?"