She takes another of those small half-steps back while she holds her sketchbook tightly against herself. It's not going to protect her, she's quite sure, but that solid certainty under the idea that Carlisle would never deliberately harm her whether he knows who she is or not crumbles very slightly at the corners.

The silence that falls around the sound of him trying to breathe is somehow worse than the shouting. Poison knows what to do about shouting, but not about this.

"What makes you think you can't do good here?" Oh, she could set him off again, but it seems a question worth asking. "I don't think that's true."