“No,” Sveta said. “He didn’t. But he toed the line. And I knew there was a reason he seemed happier lately. I asked and he was honest. He’s always been honest with me. Not always upfront, but…”

“Yeah,” Weld said.

What did you say, Weld?

I couldn’t ask, because I could see the consequence of that statement. Fresh hurt on Sveta’s face. I could see the agitation of her tendrils beneath her wig, and her hand went up to hold it steady. Her dress stirred, moving like there was a wind, when the door had shut minutes ago.

“Was there something I was supposed to do differently?” Sveta asked. “Was I unfair? Did I ask too much? I’m sorry, if I got it wrong.”

“No,” Weld said.

“I thought we got along. We have common interests, common goals. You have your hobbies and I have mine, we—I wasn’t oppressive? I—didn’t get too in your face or ask too much?”

“No,” Weld said. “You keep asking that. We’re going in circles.”

“Because,” Sveta said. She stopped. Her hand was at my arm and she squeezed. “Because if it was that, then it’s something I’m working on, that I can fix. My sessions with Rain’s power—I’m getting better. I’m more independent than I’ve ever been.”

“It’s great,” Weld said, glum, not making eye contact again.

“Can you give me more than a few words at a time? Can you yell at me again?”

“I didn’t yell.”

“Be angry, then. Hit me with more stuff about me trying to push cooking on you or conflicts of interest between your team and Breakthrough, or… anything?”

“Those things don’t matter. They’re bullshit I threw back at you because you were shouting at me and people were looking.”

The fight that had extended outside.

“I don’t want them to be bullshit. Because… Victoria, you took university classes at the hospital. There was this term, in this one language class. It’s not what’s said, it’s…”

I could see where this was going. I couldn’t see a way of stopping it. Or there was a way, but using it now would be taking a side, and that would irrevocably harm my relationship with Sveta, and it wouldn’t help anything.

“Textual silence,” the words left my lips.

“Textual silence. A journalist writes an article and brings up five bullet points, but it’s a seven bullet point issue. They left those things out for a reason. That tells a story of its own. Did I get that right?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Ignorant old me can get something right,” Sveta said, bitter.

“You’re not—” I started.

She pulled her arm away from my hand. I stopped talking.

“We’ve ruled everything else out. It’s because of my body,” she said.

“No,” Weld said.