Koda;
I'm still on my knees in the garden, unable to stand or move.
The grass beneath me is still scorched black in a wide circle where Elián was taken—where I watched shadows close around him and couldn't move fast enough, couldn't fight fast enough, couldn't do a single thing except scream his name into empty air.
I haven't left this spot.
Zephan tried to pull me up twice already. Father tried once, his hand heavy on my shoulder, saying something about strategy, about regrouping, about needing a clear head before we move. I heard the words. I didn't absorb a single one of them.
I've been staring at the burned grass instead, both hands pressed flat against the ground like I can somehow reach through it, through dirt and root and stone, and find him again just by wanting it badly enough. Like wanting could ever be enough... Like it's ever once been enough, for anything, in my entire life.
Then something inside my chest simply…bursts.
