That was when I heard it.
Not a gasp.
Not a sob.
Just a soft, broken inhale that didn’t quite make it all the way in.
I turned.
Ariel stood a few feet down the hallway, one hand braced against the wall like she needed it to stay upright. Her face had gone pale, eyes unfocused, like the words had knocked the room out from under her.
“Ariel,” I said softly.
She didn’t look at me.
“She didn’t make it,” Ariel whispered.
It wasn’t a question.
No one answered.
“They killed her,” Ariel said again, quieter this time. Like she was trying the words on, seeing if they would hold. “She went back because we left.”
Tears prickled my eyes as I walked closer to her. In that moment, I wished that I could somehow protect her from this pain. But deep down I knew that wasn’t possible. All I could do was be there for her.
“She trusted us,” Ariel said. Her voice didn’t break, and somehow that made it worse. “Cap promised her. I promised her.”
Her hand slid down the wall an inch.
“I told her we’d come back.”
She finally looked at me then.
Not angry.
Not accusing.
Just wrecked.
“I need a minute,” she said quietly.
Then she turned and walked away before anyone could stop her.
The hallway stayed silent after she was gone.
I didn’t follow right away.
I gave her the space to make it to the end of the hall. To disappear around the corner where the light didn’t reach as brightly.
Then I went.
Ariel was sitting on the floor outside one of the empty rooms, knees drawn to her chest, forehead pressed to the door like it was the only thing holding her up. She didn’t look at me when I stopped a few feet away.
“I don’t know what to do with this,” she said quietly.
“I know,” I replied.
I slid down the wall beside her, close enough that our shoulders touched. Not holding. Not fixing. Just there.
