Harrow is deeply mortified; she hasn't cried in front of another human being since before her parents died.

(If she had ever been told that Milliways has private rooms available this would all be happening very differently.)

But no matter how her soul twists and squirms within her the tears won't stop. Dimly, she is thankful Lan Wangji doesn't even attempt to speak to her.

When she finally dries up, she sighs wearily and tugs her veil up over her ruined face paint, still coiled into the sofa.