Even the little bit Enoch says about his own funeral sends a little pang of deja vu, the bad kind, across her heart. That was a funeral she'd already been to, and the thought of another identical one, with her alone this time, is too real still. So she's glad of the opportunity to answer with something she knows.

"Curacao, lime juice, vodka," she points at the blue one first, then to the dark purple; "Just like, the empress gin again with maybe too many lavender bitters. So it's up to you, excuse me what the fuck, lie detection?"

This, too, she immediately decides, is another lie. And a kind of lazy one, honestly. He must really be getting drunk.