Elizabeth confirms it with a nod. The numbness in which she'd gladly taken refuge and the affected detachment she'd shown her crew begin to flake away like rust, leaving an open wound and unwelcome thoughts of ten years alone.

"We'd just been married. Will swung across to the Dutchman -- I think he still hoped to save his father -- and Davy Jones stabbed him. He was dying-" A quick glance over Merriman's shoulder, and Elizabeth, unhappily aware that the minutes are ticking by, wonders how much longer Tai Huang will wait. It's a risk she'll have to take, as she is unwilling to end this conversation just yet. "Jack meant to stab the heart himself. Instead, he helped Will do it."

With great care, she folds both financial statement and pardon, and slips them between her shirt and wrapped jacket, tied firmly at her waist.

"And who are you, then, Commodore Lyon?" she asks, returning to the former subject with a haste that likely betrays her continued wariness. "Don't say an ancient god bound in human form. I've had quite enough of that for a while."

There's a smile, but it's small and brittle.