[It’s a strange grief, a horrible grief—one maybe only they can understand, here, in this eternal limbo. He’s still here; he can smile, have a heartbeat. They’ll see him again. But they’ve seen the aftermath, too; stained vest, severed head. That can never be undone.

[Armin’s scream echoes, and it’s a mangled balm, metallic and searing. He’s sorry; he knows; it’s true. Aubrey reels and shudders under his palm, writhing in the same trap she has been for four years and counting. Guttural, keening noises close around her throat.]

[Her sputtering thoughts grasp at coherence long before her voice can. We didn’t know and I did nothing he wanted to die I was a fist hits the ground useless and he stabbed himself to death I did nothing he looked just like his sister he looked so peaceful I woke him up she groans and it’s too late it’s too late it’s too late I did nothing I could have said something I should have been there for him I could have done anything, anything at all but ignore him and drown and drown and drown… It doesn’t stop.]