She doesn’t stop to think. She doesn’t pause to wonder what has happened. She
doesn’t consider the diversity of things that Adama might have done to make
Raman disappear, or seem to disappear. Her senses tell her that Raman is gone, 
just gone, and in her surprise she interprets that as meaning he’s gone forever,
that he’s dead, as good as dead. Instinct and anger direct her response. She
adjusts her point of aim and squeezes the trigger. The assault rifle stammers, 
but the thunderous noise is nothing compared to the fury rising inside her. She 
doesn’t care if Adama is a mage, doesn’t care if he’s powerful enough to make
her vanish, too. Were she in her natural form, she would hurl herself forward 
with a roar, with every intention of ripping Adama into bloody, shredded bits.