Clarisse is stubborn, not stupid, and there is a limit to how much even she can metaphorically cover her ears and pretend that Abby isn't making any sense. She knows, and has known all day, that the idea of flying off into the mountains and actually finding Ellie there is laughable. As ridiculous as the idea that Ellie would leave the Gallows without her bag, her shoes, or her griffon. And that she'd do it without saying anything.

It's Clarisse who's not making sense. And she knows that but it feels like she can't stop, either, because stopping would be admitting that there is no chance, and no hope.

This—whatever she says or does next—is going to change everything. Clarisse knows that. It feels exactly like it did after she landed the chariot in Manhattan and she knew, she knew that as soon as she stepped down onto the street that her life would be different. Permanently, irreversibly.

So she says nothing, does nothing. She doesn't blink, she can't even breathe. On the canvas above them, she hears the first fat raindrops hitting the tent. She watches Abby, as if there's something Abby can say that will somehow undo this, somehow make it right.