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The girl in my arms squeezed me, and I hugged her back, stroking her hair.

I realized there were other people with them, too.

I looked at another girl in her twenties, who might have actually been human. She was staring between me and Black in shock.

I have no idea how long we all stood there, half of us crying, the other half standing there, numb, paralyzed.

Black and I found one another’s eyes again, and I saw him lean down, and kiss the young man on the head, even as he lovingly stroked his black hair. It struck me that both me and Black had opened our lights to them, that their hearts were open to us in turn, both of them. I could feel the boy’s light and heart open to mine, almost like he belonged there.

The boy was shaking now, but he held onto Black with that utter, profound confidence and safety you only feel with a trusted parent. A parent you love, who never hurt you, who never did anything but try to protect you, who listened to your problems and let you crawl into bed with them when you werescared. A parent you could trust with your tears, with your pain, with your love, with your open heart.

A parent you thought was…

They’d thought we were dead, I realized in shock.

Both of them had thought we were dead.

I stared down at the girl’s dark head, then over at the boy, then at Black.

Why had they thought we were dead?

Black returned my gaze.

Slowly, meaningfully, he quirked an eyebrow.

He must have heard my question.

He didn’t try to answer me.