[ Hei blinks slowly, and his reaction is delayed, if only a little. But he doesn't pull away. Korra's question is a non sequitur -- yet not. He's been trained to read people like maps, drawn from an aerial view, with splotches of color to symbolize weaknesses, wants. Faint stripes of green translating into resentments, inadequacies. Bright red bullseyes aiming toward deep-seated terrors, unwitting triggers. And what he can read in Korra's words ... It makes him feel a stab of regretful sadness. Because she wants love -- and that's one thing he can't give her. One thing he's not even sure he's capable of anymore. His fondness for her -- the fragile intimacy spinning between them -- none of it undercuts the fact that theirs is an affair of ill-timed expedience. ]

[ And the question about Amber... His expression is one of blank, shuttered contemplation. But there's something dazed, almost firelit, in his eyes. It's always difficult for him, to describe Amber or anything about her in words. She eludes vocabulary; his memories of her are tactile, secret. He almost wants to tell Korra to drop the subject. He can't understand why she'd even care. But he also feels like offering her a crumb of background is the least that he owes her. ]

[ His voice is faraway, almost small, when he says, ]

She enjoyed ... anything that gave her a rush. Anything dangerous. I think it was her way of ... flowing with it, almost. It put her in a zone where she could switch her mind off. Just be.

[ The irony doesn't escape him that he's become the same person. ]