"Yes," River says, hands buried in her tutu.

Except she doesn't say it. Her mouth doesn't open; it doesn't count.

"I don't know," is what she does whisper aloud, the way that counts, into the east wind. There's a scent of sugar on the air, heavy and thick, like a fairground.

"You saw me," she says, and lifts her eyes to Ennis's.