By this point, Sonia really was expecting him to cut her loose, to tell her it was nothing, nothing to mourn over -- or another verbal smoke-and-mirrors act, only confusing her further. But at those words she goes utterly still, staring at him, almost afraid to move, as though that might shatter this delicate moment, undo it entirely.

It's the answer she wanted to hear, insofar as she wanted any answers to this, this ultimately unsolvable problem, because at the end of the day Byerly is still a traitor. But it does matter. It matters immensely. It is, in its way, an almost unbearable relief. It doesn't hurt any less, it just hurts -- differently. In a way she can bear. Sonia's breath catches in her throat, and she almost chokes on it, but she can breathe.

"It was real," she whispers back, in affirmation, insistence. She wraps her arms around herself, feeling tears well up again, wishing desperately for comfort. She wishes her sister were here -- no, she wishes Beth were here. Beth wouldn't pass any I-told-you-so's over this. "And so my feelings are real. And so you are real. You couldn't have hurt me if you weren't. If none of it was."

If this is some kind of victory, it's bitter as hell and she chokes on it, but even if she wanted to take it back, she couldn't. There is still so much to untangle, so much she must struggle through -- but now, at least, she has a clearer picture. She knows how Byerly's defection should make her feel.

She still wants it all undone.

Sonia's breathing is ragged, short, still interrupted by irregular hiccups. "So start there," she says, reaching out despite herself. "That's where you start."