“I—” Eslar blinked furiously, though not from the light of the void. She’d never seen so much emotion on his face, yet she couldn’t find it in herself to care.
“What does it mean?” she repeated. “You’re the oldest. You’ve been here the longest. You know magic the best, don’t you?”
Eslar looked over her head, transfixed by the nothingness. The look of fear and heartache creeping into his eyes left Jo mentally reaching out for a lifesaver no one had thrown. Still, she treaded water, refused to drown. Surely he had answers, surelysomebodyhad answers.
“What does it mean?” she demanded, grabbing the elf’s shoulders and shaking him back to reality. “Eslar, what does it—”
“He’s gone!” The man wrenched himself from her grasp. A long moment passed, Eslar reaching out towards Nico’s door frame with shaking hands, as if he needed it to hold himself up. At first, long, dark fingers barely touched it, but then he curled in on himself, dark green fingernails scratching harsh lines into the wood. “He’s. . . He’s really gone.”
No one seemed able to say anything for a while. They all stood paralyzed in that ominous glow of nothingness, a glow that suddenly seemed to cast new light on the hopelessness of their situation.
And yet.
“No, he can’t be.” Jo refused to believe it. It seemed too inconceivably horrible to fathom. “He can’t be, because, because the recreation room still had his watch on the shelf.” They all stared as if she’d spoken in a language that no magic could enable them to understand. It was the tether she’d been looking for, something she could cling to with a desperation she’d never felt in her life. Not even when she’d sacrificed herself for the sake of Yuusuke. “I’ll show you. I’ll show you!”
In an all-out sprint, she was flying across the mansion once more. There were hurried footfalls behind her, as hasty as hers, but Jo didn’t look to see who was following. She leapt down the stairs, clearing half, stumbling the rest, before scrambling up the other set. Jo didn’t trip this time.
“There it is!” she shouted, finally looking over her shoulder. She could hear the unnatural crack to her voice, a pitch so many decibels away from calm that it was almost pathetic. But still, she kept her arm steady. Still, she pointed to the rec room shelf. “See, I told you.” Everyone was in tow. “His watch is still here.” Jo flung wide the door. It was the same studio she remembered waking up in. Even with his actual room wiped clean, surely this meant something. Surely he was still here.Somewhere. “Nico!” she called.
The rest of them caught up, Wayne huffing and puffing. Eslar hardly seemed winded, so it was the elf who first inspected the watch. Jo made to take a desperate step into the room, but what he said next froze her stride.
“It’s broken,” he whispered.
Everyone stilled, hanging on his next words, but there were none. There was nothing more to be said, only to be inspected.
Jo backpedaled, stepped over to the shelf. Sure enough, the watch was there, but its glass front was fractured. The second-hand no longer moved; the clock face that counted his time was frozen at 1:17, matching the time that had always been mirrored on the second dial.
“Julia,” Samson whispered, his understanding full of aching intimacy. They’d spent hundreds of years together, after all.
1:17, the time Julia had died. It made so much sense now, gave meaning to Nico’s request. He’d asked Snow for a specific time, wished for a last connection to his love, and someone had obliged.
“He’s really, g-gone, isn’t he?” Samson forced through tears. No one seemed willing to capture anyone else’s gaze; everyone kept their eyes pinned on the last remaining fragments of the man they’d all come to care for.
No one could answer, and that was answer enough.
Takako leaned against the far wall, unwilling to touch anyone. Eslar wrapped an arm around Samson, pulling him close. Wayne just stared at the watch, lips parted, and eyes glossy. The hurt in everyone’s expressions was obvious; the exhaustion even more so. The pain Jo felt slowly began to molt into hatred.
“It’s her fault,” Jo whispered.
In her periphery, Jo could see Eslar shake his head. “It’s all of our faults, we didn’t close the Severity of—”
“Don’t give me that!” The words were out before she could stop them. Jo didn’t want to scream at Eslar, but she also didn’t want Nico to be dead. She wanted revenge but she also wanted to curl up into a ball and pretend none of this had happened. Everything felt beyond her control, and she couldn’t stand it. “Don’t you even dare give me that! We didn’t know.”
“If we’d known, would that have changed anything?” Eslar shouted back. Samson cringed in his arms.
Jo opened her mouth and closed it, angry. She searched for facts, for arguments, digging deep for some explanation for all this, but in the end could do no more than fold her arms over her chest and try to stop the shaking. They’d done all they could; that was the hardest part. They’d done all they could and now, this.
“She could’ve let us say goodbye, at least,” Wayne whispered, staring into the room.
It has been an honor working alongside you, Josephina Espinosa.
Jo spun in place. That was it. That was the thing causing the creeping dread since the first moment Jo had woken.
She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye.
Jo pulled away from the group at once, her fist meeting Pan’s door and banging frantically. “I know you’re in there,” she shouted at the unwavering expanse of black. She heard the rest of her team come up behind her, but she ignored them, slamming wounded knuckles against wood.
“Jo, stop!” Wayne called.
