[ Harold can appreciate that probably. Lately he's felt extremely uncertain of anything himself. It helps him muster up a trace of a rueful smile for Carver. ]

If it's anyone's it's the Machine's, [ he says plainly. ] She's spent more time here than any of us. These are her dead servers and processing center around us.

[ It feels... strangely good, to say out loud. Acknowledging her demise and acknowledging it specifically as a death. Like picking off an uncomfortable scab and finding the wound has healed over just a little since the last time. ]