He's goading her, and she knows it, and it doesn't matter. "Ay, cállate la boca."

His mouth's not shut for long, but at least he's not talking anymore - and the cigarette gets stubbed out, the memory of the smoke lingering. After, when they're a mess of sweat and heat in Kovacs' bed, Kristin's fingertips run idly over one of Elias' old scars.