The moment the last head bowed, Zarya stood frozen in place.
Still tall. Still composed. But I could feel the storm inside her unraveling through the bond—like she’d been holding her breath for too long and now didn’t know how to exhale.
When the pack slowly began to disperse, murmuring words of loyalty and awe, she didn’t move.
“Zarya,” I said gently.
She turned her head toward me, eyes distant like she was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere far away—maybe a cage, maybe a memory.
“I don’t know how to be what they saw,” she whispered. “What they felt.”
“You already are,” I said. “You just haven’t accepted it yet.”
She blinked, and I saw it—a shimmer of disbelief in her eyes. She looked down at her hands like she didn’t recognize them. Like she was expecting blood instead of applause
