Clyde's hand caught hers before it could hit the ground.
The winds softened. The roar that had devoured Althea's world a moment ago faded into a hush, like the last breath of a storm.
Just moments before her soul departed for the afterworld, Althea felt herself lowered gently. Slowly, into the crook of his familiar arms, her back meeting the ground only when his knees touched it first. His warm touch—cold and lifeless just minutes ago—was trembling now.
Her vision was blurry, but she could still see him.
Tears clung to his dark gray lashes, glinting. His lips quivered. His whole body shook like the storm hadn't left, only moved inward. Into him.
And then Clyde sobbed—for the first time ever in front of her—a sound that splintered her chest far more than the cracked ribs beneath her skin.
"I'm so sorry, Athy," he whispered, voice barely a breath. "I don't know what came over me. I'm… I'm so sorry I hurt you."
And then, she saw it.
The light in his eyes.
