The house felt wrong.
Not quiet in a peaceful way. Quiet like something was waiting.
No one touched their phone.
Kaida had placed hers face-down on the table, like covering it might stop it from watching. No one argued.
Jason hadn't spoken in almost an hour.
He sat on the floor, knees pulled to his chest, staring at the space where Saphira should have been. Every now and then his jaw clenched, like he was biting back something that wanted to escape. Grief. Anger. Maybe both.
Summer stayed near the window.
She hadn't cried yet.
That scared Lyrelle more than anything.
Ryan sat alone on the stairs, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Every few minutes, he flinched—like he was still hearing his own voice echoing in that hallway. Like the game never really let him come back.
Prince leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying to look like a leader.
But his hands were shaking.
Thorian noticed.
He always did.
Kyra sat beside Kaida, close but not touching. She kept opening her mouth like she wanted to say something, then closing it again. Her eyes were swollen from crying, but the guilt hadn't eased.
Nothing had eased.
Finally, Lyrelle broke the silence.
"She should be here."
No one asked who.
Jason's head lifted slightly.
"She would've been teasing us right now," Lyrelle continued softly. "Making jokes. Acting like nothing scares her."
Jason's voice came out rough. "She was scared."
Everyone looked at him.
"She just hid it better than all of us."
That did it.
Jason stood up abruptly and walked toward the door.
Prince moved immediately. "Jason—"
"I just need air," he snapped. Then, quieter. "If I stay here, I'll lose it."
No one stopped him this time.
The door closed behind him.
Summer finally spoke.
"This is my fault."
Lyrelle turned sharply. "No."
Summer laughed, but it sounded hollow. "Don't lie to me. The game picked me. She was with me. Now she's gone."
Kaida's voice was barely audible. "The game wanted you to think that."
Summer shook her head. "And what if it's right?"
No one had an answer.
Ryan looked up slowly. "It feeds on guilt."
They all turned to him.
"When I was gone," he said quietly, "that's all it kept showing me. Moments I could've acted. Things I could've said. It didn't hurt me physically."
He swallowed.
"It made me hate myself."
That settled heavily over the room.
Thorian exhaled. "So that's the punishment. Not pain."
"Loss," Kaida said.
And then, softer, "And waiting."
They stayed like that for a long time.
No buzz.
No vibration.
No message.
Just the weight of Saphira's absence pressing down on all of them.
And somehow, that was worse.
Much worse.