Clarisse just listens, stone-faced. The only movement is her rolling the gauze from hand to hand. The things Ellie's saying make sense. They should make her feel better. But accepting Ellie's apology feels like swallowing glass, and she has to look away.

Finally: "You're scared of something happening to me, so you blind tackle one of those fucking things? And then what?" She doesn't wait for an answer. There's heat rising in her cheeks. "You're not immune to getting your fucking throat ripped out."

She squeezes her hand into a fist.