He's right. When Sylvie thinks of him, when she's with him, some part of her she's never known before lights up, comes alive. Sometimes it's alive in anger, though even that feels new, and she presses her lips together to hold back a laugh. It isn't regular. It's the furthest thing from it.

Blood trickles into her eye and rather than stop touching him, she simply turns her head and wipes it against her shoulder.

"So... I love you, but?" she asks. Those words feel less strange in her mouth than she might have thought. "I love you, but... we're different?"