Relief rushes over her at his statement that she isn't a cause. Anya knows it. Knows that she is a real person, flesh and blood. But her family...the Romanovs were meant to be people from God, angels made flesh to work hard for the people of Russia. They were meant to be better than the rest of their homeland, for better or for worse. Blessed for bringing good, blamed for everything else. If it wasn't for the cause of ending the tsar's rule and the cause of wiping out his bloodline, then she would still have a family. She would still have her memories.

So many stills and what ifs.

If anyone of them had happened then she wouldn't be Anya. She doesn't know who that girl is. They just would wear the same face, own the same name (even if Anya would only half-turn her head at the sound of someone calling it after her).

"All right," she says softly her expression turning gentle as his turns bittersweet. Curiosity is there as well. If she is more than than a cause to him, then what is she? How much more? Does she make his heart beat faster? Does he think of her when she is not around? How far into the corners of his mind are thoughts of her kept? "How much —"

Her mind chases after those thoughts like a cat after a mouse for a moment longer than it should. None of those are questions that she will ask right now. She cuts herself off, kills the question right there as she takes her hand off his arm.

"All right. I don't know if it matters now, as we are both still alive." Pulling her gaze away from him, she looks up at the signs on the street corner, gesturing absently for the way they are headed next. "It isn't far now."