The vague sound of affront and protest that Benevenuta makes into Dorian's shoulder closely resembles the one she made earlier in lieu of what definitely would have been a very clever and compelling argument against his objectively wrong assertion that she has feelings that matter. Then, more clearly, "What?"

which is only slightly better. Sweat tacks the curls nearest her face to her skin and the tangle of her hair caught between their elbows is fleetingly confusing as she can't quite work out why she's stuck--

"What."

No, she's fine. She's got this. She blinks owlishly up at Nerva, burning up under her hand.