Whatever life I want...?

[ He reaches for her hand, realizing again that his arm is shining and new, moving as easily as if it had only just been fabricated and lubricated. It's not a smoking heap of metal on a cave floor, useless, burned out. He's not—

Gustave clamps down on that thought in a hurry, curling his metal fingers gently around hers as he looks around the room, to the door. ]

Emma— is—

[ He looks back to Maelle, the possibilities yawning in front of him. ]

Is Emma here? She must be worried out of her mind, if she— if you told her—

—Is she here?