Sixty Nine
It took two days for Zaria to stop shaking when she slept. In that time, Callen watched grief pour out of her in waves, like a cry she had swallowed for far too long, one that only broke free once she felt safe enough to fall apart. Sometimes it was muffled sobs into his chest, her fingers clutching his shirt like a lifeline. Sometimes it was silence, the kind that sat heavy between them while she stared at nothing, eyes red and distant. He said little. There were no words sharp enough to cut through what she had lost. It was strange, even to him, how much River’s death weighed on his own chest. He had once considered the elf lord an obstacle, then an asset, then a quiet rival for Zaria’s heart. Now the man was simply gone, leaving a shape in Zaria that would never be filled. Perha
- Writer
