Octavia had nothing to say. Or had plenty to say but no urge to say it, all detached from everything she could have been feeling. A kind of survival mode, a conservation of energy. Giving something to them and spending nothing on anything else.

Of course, if she'd felt a little more present in herself, she'd have probably been able to figure out more of what Lucifer needed from her. But this was what they had.

Clinging in silence.

Breathing.