Vince’s heart was beating hard and fast in his chest. He couldn’t imagine a worse individual to have revealed themself his Ophelia than the Minister’s sister. Once upon a time he might have relished in the discovery of it; there was an advantage to be gained here, surely, if he exploited it— her. But his career was a wash. His brain was a mess. Cassian was— It didn’t matter. This was not the moment and he was not of the mind to make anything of… her.

She reached for him even as he pulled back both physically and emotionally. Her words rung hard and true in his mind even as he denied them. No, no! Vince hardened and yanked his wrist from her grip. When he spoke, his voice was soft but clipped. “Even if I had, there’s nothing of it now,” he said loftily. “Hamlet is but a madman made tangible and I am but a ghost. There is nothing, Ms. Dempsey, I can offer you.” And with that, he turned on his heel and moved off to find Sabine. This evening, and this exchange, was over.

(A few steps into the throng Vince aparated away, intentionally to lose sight of his Ophelia. He did not find Sabine. He found instead the inside of his own head and a locked, dark flat that swallowed him whole.)

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