"Shh. Don't try to talk."

Or perhaps even to breathe, as the air thickens around him. It could be terror that's robbing him of his breath, of course.

(Or it could be something else.)

Virginia is smiling fondly as she watches him, waiting; fondly, protectively, and almost possessively, as she'd once looked at a picture of a much younger Gabriel, trapped like an insect in a bubble of amber.