"Dad-" she tries to ward him away from plucking another feather, when he's already looking like a bird that hit a skyscraper. But obviously she can't stop him, no more than he could stop her self-destructing the previous month. There's no cure for this, not when he has every reason to be afraid and stressed.

She takes the quills and sticks them up her sleeves, feeling the feather against her cheek before she puts it behind her ear.

"I'll be back," she repeats, "I swear to you, I'll come back."