“It has to be me.”
Silence crashes back in. Heavier. Because that wasn’t strategy. That was truth.
Seren goes still.
Rubi doesn’t move.
Even Vren says nothing.
Because there is nothing to argue with.
“You will not touch him, Therion,” Elyssara croaks, teeth bared.
He moves closer, closing the gap with steady steps. “Come on. You know him, El. You know he would not want to live if it meant leveling cities, wiping out entire populations. Hurtingyou.”
Tears rim her eyes—unable to hold them back.
“He’s still in there,” she murmurs, desperation still clinging to her every word.
“And if he is, we’ll give you every chance to reach him. But if he’s not, El…” he trails off.
Elyssara and Teddy stay locked in a silent stare, a thousand words of love for a man they may never reach passing between them.
“You’ll kill him,” she breathes, and the words sound like acceptance. “And me.”
Teddy nods once.
“I’ll never forgive you,” Elyssara murmurs, reaching for Teddy’s hands like they’re a life raft as she drifts in the wide-open sea.
“I’ll never forgive myself,” he agrees, and his self-loathing is clear.
Seren moves to Teddy’s side, but he only shakes his head. Her hand stills mid-air, like a love letter never sent. Hurt flashes across her face, deep and old and unmistakable.
Ronyn exhales softly through his nose, looking around the room for support.
His eyes land on Rubi, but her face is calm, centered.
“I used to be able to count on you for chaotic contributions, Rubes. I’m not sure that the sobriety is an upgrade,” he grouses, though it earns a couple of awkward laughs.
She shrugs, a wry smile lifting her lips.
“…Gods,” Ronyn mutters.
A few heads turn. He drags a hand over his mouth, glancing between them.
“Well,” he says mildly, “that’s one way to kill the mood.”
Teddy huffs a laugh, forced as it may be. “You really are fucking insufferable,” he groans.
Thank the gods.Conversation. Something he can work with.
“Careful, Teddy… you might actually have a good time if you’re not busy volunteering to execute your friends.”
It lands. Dark. Precise. And exactly what the room needs. Laughter fills the space—like the only thing they can still laugh about is the inevitability of death.
Teddy huffs—almost a laugh breaking through despite himself. And just like that, the tension shifts. Not gone. Never gone. But… loosened. Enough.
Voices start again. Low at first. Then louder. The scrape of boots, the clink of metal, the quiet exchange of flasks passed between hands. Not unity, and certainly not peace, but something close enough to stand on.
