Vanya's mouth opens to say it again but the words don't come out. Nothing does save a quiet, croaking noise and she could swear she sees the sound waves skittering out of her mouth to bounce around the room. Maybe she can. Her eyes screw shut to make it stop but that just makes her ears sharper, more aware and there's no getting away from any of it anymore. It's all around and inside her and waiting like a storm about to break all over again and she can't run anymore, not even if her muscles weren't screaming bloody murder.

All she can manage is wrapping her arms around herself, tight, blunt fingernails digging into her arms even through the fleece (it smells like him, shit, she wants to scrub her skin off to get rid of the smell) as she stares over at the book Diego just tossed.

Mom is already across the room to pick it up, heels clicking on the marble floor. Now Vanya, she scolds gently, you know you're not supposed to go through your father's things. The silence rings out for a good minute before the maternal disappointment smooths itself out. Who wants hot cocoa?