While she finds herself comforted by his frankness, there is plenty more to fear. First of all, there's the looming discomfort of the gala rolling along inside, of the woman that might find them at any moment. If she were to overhear - if anyone were to overhear, would she get in some kind of trouble? If justice exists, one day she will pay for what she's done, no matter what she does to justify through context, or to retroactively earn her freedom by being a better person going forward.

"I--" There's a long second where she almost tells him what she's done. Not who she is or how she got there, but that she's done terrible things. Unspeakable. Some people - her brother included - spend their lives fearing the end of days - and she ushered it in. She blew it up. No horsemen, no beacon, no alarm. Just crack and nothing.

"I-I'm sorry," she course-corrects, her gaze darting to the floor in hopes he's missed it all - all of the terror and doubt and, sure, evil that she is. Of course not. But he's not a priest and even if she was, he didn't ask for her Confession. By talking to him about it, all she's doing is endangering herself and everyone around. No, this is something best left in the past of another dimension, a place Vanya's mind is stuck, suddenly.