The room felt heavier.
Not physically—no pressure, no force.
Emotionally.
Like the air itself had absorbed too much truth and didn't know where to put it.
Yuna straightened beside me.
I noticed the shift instantly. The way her posture aligned, shoulders settling, expression going still. She wasn't bracing for danger.
She was bracing for aftermath.
Leon met my eyes.
The word he hadn't said yet hovered between us.
And I knew—
Whatever I chose next would change everything.
Not just what I did.
Who I became.
Silence widened.
It stretched until it felt uncomfortable, then kept going. The hum of the facility faded into background noise, like my hearing had pulled away from the world to protect itself.
I didn't answer Leon.
Not immediately.
The room felt too small for a decision like that.
Galactors.
Power.
Responsibility.
Whatever only someone like you can do meant.
All of it pressed at the edges of my mind—but I refused to let it in yet.
"I… need time," I said quietly.
My voice didn't shake.
That surprised me.
Leon studied me for a long second. His gaze wasn't probing. It wasn't judgmental.
It was assessing restraint.
Then he nodded once.
"Take it," he said. "You're not being forced."
The words should've comforted me.
They didn't.
The phrase he'd spoken earlier—something only you can do—still hung in the air like an unfinished sentence, but my mind slid away from it deliberately.
I couldn't look forward yet.
My thoughts were somewhere else.
"…What about my family?" I asked quietly.
The silence wasn't empty.
It was missing something.
Leon didn't speak right away.
The pause told me everything.
"What happened to my mom?" I continued, my voice tightening despite myself. "She was bleeding on the floor. I saw her—"
My chest seized halfway through the sentence.
The image surged up without warning.
Blood on white tiles.
Her hand gripping my sleeve.
Her voice—thin, breaking—Save him.
I swallowed hard.
Yuna's expression changed.
She didn't look away.
She moved.
Before Leon could answer, Yuna reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of slim headphones. I recognized them—soft-shell, child-sized, worn slightly at the edges.
Without a word, she knelt in front of Renya.
He looked up at her, confused.
She smiled—not bright, not forced. Gentle. Practiced.
She placed the headphones over his ears carefully, adjusting the band so it didn't press too hard against his hair.
A soft melody filtered faintly through the room.
Something light. Simple. Almost silly.
Renya blinked.
Then relaxed.
His shoulders lowered. His grip on my sleeve loosened just a little as the sound filled his head.
Only then did Yuna stand.
She looked at me.
And said it.
"…Your mother didn't make it."
The words didn't sound real.
Renya didn't understand the words—only the way my voice broke when I said them.
They landed wrong—flat, distant, like they belonged to someone else's story.
My head dropped forward as if something inside me had snapped loose.
I remembered her hands.
Not the blood.
Not the floor.
Her hands on my shoulders when I was a kid—firm, steady, refusing to let me quit when my lungs burned after training. The way she used to count my breaths for me when I panicked, whispering numbers like they were anchors.
"Again," she'd say. "You can always take one more breath."
I tried to take one now.
It didn't work.
I grabbed the fabric over my chest, fingers clawing uselessly, like if I held myself tight enough I could keep my heart from breaking apart.
My vision blurred instantly.
A sound escaped me—broken, ugly, not even a word.
I didn't recognize my own voice.
"What about my brother?" I whispered. "And his wife?"
My throat felt raw. Every syllable scraped.
Leon answered this time.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"…They're gone too."
I shook my head slowly.
"No," I muttered. "No, no—can you… can you show me the news?"
Some irrational part of me still believed that if I saw it, it could be undone. That reality needed confirmation to exist.
Leon shook his head.
"We can't release it," he said. "It's classified."
My breath hitched sharply.
Classified.
The word didn't belong anywhere near my family.
Leon's tone softened—just a fraction.
"But," he continued quietly, "we recovered them. We made sure they were treated with respect."
He hesitated.
Just a little.
As if he realized too late that there was no respectful way to finish that sentence.
"…Where are they now?" I asked quietly.
The room went still.
Yuna didn't answer.
Leon did.
"You weren't in a condition to view the bodies," he said calmly.
"Your body and mind weren't physically or mentally prepared."
He paused—just long enough to matter.
"You will see them at the funeral," he said.
I couldn't hear anything after that.
The room tilted.
My head throbbed violently as memories crashed into each other—blood on tiles, Renya screaming, my mother's last breath breaking apart in my hands.
Everything overlapped.
Nothing aligned.
Yuna stepped closer.
She rested a hand on my shoulder.
No pressure.
No words.
She didn't need to say anything.
I slid down into the chair beside Renya's bed, my body folding inward like it had been waiting for permission.
I covered my face with my hands.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, voice breaking apart. "I couldn't save anyone… except you."
The words tasted wrong.
Selfish.
The word except felt wrong in my mouth.
Like I was weighing lives.
Like survival had become a transaction.
If I'd been faster—
If I'd been stronger—
If I hadn't hesitated—
The thoughts spiraled uselessly, cruel and endless.
But none of them changed the truth.
I was alive.
And the people I loved most weren't.
Renya stirred.
He lifted one small hand and touched my sleeve.
His fingers barely reached past the seam of the fabric.
"Kai… en?" he asked softly. "Are you okay?"
The sound undid me completely.
I pulled him into my arms and held him tightly, pressing my lips to his forehead, breathing him in like proof that something still existed.
"I promise," I said softly. "I'll protect you. Even if it costs me everything."
Renya nodded.
Too young to understand.
Too trusting not to believe.
That trust hurt the most.
I pressed my nails into my palm until pain flared sharp and real—something solid to anchor myself to.
I had lost almost everything.
My mother. My brother. My sister-in-law. My future.
Renya was the only thing left.
And that meant—
I couldn't afford to break.
Not now. Not ever.
Leon watched quietly from a distance, hands folded behind his back.
Leon's gaze didn't linger on my grief.
It shifted—to Renya's grip on my clothes.
To the way I angled my body slightly in front of him without realizing it.
To the fact that even broken, I was still shielding someone else.
Something in his expression changed.
Not satisfaction.
Confirmation.
Yuna didn't move.
The music continued to play softly through Renya's headphones, filling the space where words had failed.
And somewhere deep inside me, something hardened.
I understood something then.
If I chose to stand again—
If I accepted whatever Leon was about to offer—
It wouldn't just cost effort.
It wouldn't just cost pain.
It would cost who I used to be.
And there would be no returning to that version of myself.
Not resolve.
Responsibility.
The kind you don't choose— the kind that chooses you.
✦ END OF CHAPTER 22 — THE LOSS ✦