Yes, that picture Vanya is painting has come into focus now, full clarity afforded by the melancholy colors shaping the negative space of Antosha: his lack of presence. Shading and detail-work remain, but the truth of it reads as easy as a very tragic book. Ness glances back at Vanya, notes the nervous energy of his hands.

She'd intended to leave serving the food until they were finished with his story, use it as a comforting balm after what was sure to be a complicated topic, but it takes only a moment's consideration before Ness reaches for a plate. The stew is not for him, not unless he wants some—for him she plates the two hand pies, fish and lemon and star anise, warming under the cast-iron next to the fire, and pulls the folded napkin protecting the candied sage leaves out of her apron pocket. She sets the plate in front of Vanya, the napkin of sage nearby, and offers a small smile—she tried her best, followed Gela's recipe as closely as she could. Hopefully it takes the sting out of her next question.

"So, at what point did he defect?"

This is not the tone used to speak of a dead lover, nor of a relationship that failed for mundane, everyday incompatibility.

Negative space, things unsaid... they all form the shape of betrayal, not loss.