When he doesn't respond, Claire's hand drops again, to where it feels cold resting in her lap (even though that thought alone is a ridiculous one, on an island as humid as Tabula Rasa, where warmth is the standard and cold days are rare). She's not the one who should be seeking comfort, after all, between the two of them. Not right now. And if her presence doesn't afford him any of it, then that means that she'll watch from a distance, just make sure that he's okay rather than trying to shape his every move. It's just frustrating at times, Claire wanting to mold everything until it's perfect, encourage everything to go the way she wants, the way sometimes she feels she needs, nerves stretched thin.

Happiness is harder to find on the island than anyone would have them believe.

"I think we should take a walk," she says quietly, voice hoarse. Half-expecting for him to refuse.