Her gaze wanders back to the window. Rain pounds across it as if it is trying to get in. She imagines the glass breaking under the avalanche, the water rushing in like a flood. It would be cold, she thinks, and soft – softer than an ocean wave, though she has not been to the seaside in years. It feels like a lifetime. She would like to go swimming again, even if it is among detention slips and trinkets broken by the impact of a wave.