Drake is still kneeling at the edge of the nest, face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking.
Marie lingers one heartbeat longer.
She lifts my pillow to her nose, inhales deeply, and then sets it down with a little pat.
Then she straightens, limps out of my nest, and takes Ragon's arm like she's earned it.
He turns toward the door. "No one helps her. Not until I say so."
He leaves.
Marie floats after him.
Drake doesn't move. He's frozen there, hands over his face, breathing like he ran a marathon.
"Drake," Ragon calls from the hallway. "Now."
Drake flinches. He lowers his hands—his eyes are red, wet—and he looks at me for one terrible second.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, voice shattered. "Vee, I'mso—"
"Drake!" Ragon's voice cracks like a whip.
Drake stumbles to his feet and goes.
The door hits the jamb with a soft, final sound.
The quiet after is so loud I could drown in it.
Eli's hands loosen.
Jasper's grip remains a second longer.
I sit there, air moving in and out, the scent of my own room newly foreign, the center of my nest smelling like someone else's definition of home.
"Vee," Eli says, very low. "I'm—"
"Don't," Jasper says. "He gave a direct order."
Eli's breath stutters. "I know."
Jasper's fingers tap my wrist once, twice, a signal. I hear words he doesn't say:I will get the footage. I will file. I will not let this be the story anyone writes without evidence.
I stare at nothing until my vision blurs.
When it clears again, my nest is still there.
It's not mine anymore.
I put my hands in my lap.
I wait for the next command that doesn't come.
I breathe like that's a thing that matters.
I don't make a sound.
No one comforts me after.
