She's terrified. It doesn't take any close knowledge of Annie to see that, it's there in her rigid stillness and intense stare, in the way everything about her seems coiled too tight like a line about to snap. But as he approaches, as she realizes he's there, that tension eases, a little, like the wind died down from the sails and let some slack into the line. It's not a collapse, not anything like it, but it's less like she's straining to be out of the window and up the canyon.

It's no less tight and sore around his chest, though, and he steps up beside her and wraps an arm around her shoulders.

"Help you watch?" he asks, gently, careful to stop the ache inside from seeping into his voice, because it would hurt her to see how much he's hurting. "I can take a shift."

He's appealing in the language they'd been taught as children, the language of the Careers, because if he can get her to relax enough to stop this for a bit, maybe then he can work out just what's happening in her head.