She does as she's told, trying to think about the way the tea nearly burns her tongue. It's better than remembering that boy's hand, or wondering how long his family will go around thinking he's still alive before somebody sends word.

And she listens to Rani, the force of her words. It's a lesson she doesn't want to hear, but it's true, even if she doesn't want it to be.

"Somebody told me once," she offers, after a long silence, "that pain doesn't leave you. You just find somewhere you can put it." Not exactly like that, but she thinks Andrea wouldn't mind the paraphrase. And then, after another long draw of tea, "It'd be more screwed up if it didn't bother you. Wouldn't it."

It's not really a question.