It's one of her silly games, Regan had said soothingly, when Simon came to them angrily waving River's nonsensical letters. You two are always playing.

A few months after that, Simon was up to his neck in clandestine dealings with unsavory people from anywhere he could manage, chasing his mad hunch.

A few years later, he was gone.

"Of course," she says now, nonplussed. And brittle, but matching his low tone.

Simon, this is paranoid. It's stress.