Okay. Gamble it is.
"I need to go figure out my next tidal window for harvesting food," Merrin says. "It's not critically urgent, I'm going to end up going in the middle of the night, so if you want to talk, I'm around, but I'm kind of figuring you don't."
She stands up. "...Just so you know," she says in exactly the same conversational but slightly weary tone, "my stretch goal here is still to find a way to keep you out of Hell. I don't expect you to think I can succeed, and in fact I have no idea how yet, but it's what a," wow all of the translations the Share Language is offering her for the Baseline word for "protagonist" are really weird and don't really seem to be the same thing, "- it's what an ambitious person from my world would do. I'm not asking for your help, I'm just - tired of secrets, I guess."
She's still keeping some, obviously. But not that one.
Without saying another word, Merrin turns and heads off to one of the side rooms that she's sort of half set up for working in.
(Look on the bright side! Even in the worst case, where all of Merrin's brave plans turn out to be futile, she'll still have months to weave an entire set of furniture for a private office for herself before she dies of micronutrient deficiencies. Assuming Estha doesn't try to murder her in her sleep because Asmodeus wouldn't like her stretch goal, but she's in agreement with Laeirthe that it seems like that would involve...actually believing her...and also more active engagement with the situation than he seems inclined toward, right now.)