It catches itself in her chest, like someone inserted an arm or a boulder when he tilts his hand in against her hands. She's not under any lack of comprehension to what he's said, even if a bit of it seems still impossible, save all the signs that do lend themselves to what left him like he was.

And there's the want to believe him, thundering, in the rush of her heart when he gives that small smile, but she's not that girl, anymore, right? The girl who carried his truth's and his lies, both, in her hands, with her own, under the unflagging flap of her own smile. Right?

(But she's just said she's not staying, here, on Paradise, as καναρίνι either.)

She tries to lift her fingers gingerly. "This is going to be complicated."
Getting off Paradise. Getting away. A boat. Unnoticed. Everything about it.