Page 50 of Bonds of Starfall

Please, please,please.

She didn’t realize she was saying it into the phone until the man said quietly, "I’m sorry. Kiton died in the explosion. He had you down as his number one emergency contact. I was told, if anything ever happened, to call you first."

His words didn’t register. Nothing did.

Her ears were ringing, heart thundering. She was going to be sick. Violently sick. Nausea rose, a churning mass of disbelief, yet terrible, terrible understanding.

This was real.

Kit was?—

The phone slipped from her fingers.

It all happened in a blur.Rin didn’t think she could recall any of it, even if she tried.

Rin only knew, after that call, that everything had gone dark. Whether she had had an episode alone or passed out from shock or cried herself to sleep, she’d never know. She had woken up to find Sabine hovering over her, deep shadows under her eyes, and her hair tangled. She and Talor both had flown back from wherever they had been as soon as they heard the news.

It was a nightmare of meetings with lawyers, funeral directors, and the Director of the Fleet, who had presented Sabine and Talor with a small metal box filled with belongings they had salvaged from the blast.

Kit’s belongings.

Rin’s hands shook as she looked inside, finding a dog tag within. The metal was bent at the corner, flecked with dark ash across the numbers on the front. She tugged it over her head and vowed to never,evertake it off. It was warm from where it had been in the box, and she tricked herself into thinking it was because it had just touched Kit’s flesh, warm from him, and not from a sun-warmed, metal box that was lifeless.

All he had been reduced to were the tiniest specks of memories. The dog tag, a few medals, a half-burned photo—the part that was left, covered in soot and red flakes she really didn’t want to know about. She would never know what the photo was of, what memory he thought was so important that he should carry it with him.

She didn’t sleep. She didn’t eat. She nearly forgot to take her medicine… if it weren’t for Lucien.

Lucien, who was her anchor—a rock to tether herself to so she wouldn’t float away. Strong and unshakable, as he showed up at the door with disbelief in his green eyes and such intense, moving sadness that she fell apart, right there, on the front steps. He caught her and held her, and they fell to the ground on the porch as he rocked her in his arms.

She had cried until it hurt, cried until she felt hollow, until she feared one more tear might split her open, leaving her empty and dry inside. Salt from her tears lingered on her lips as Lucien tucked her in bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. He sat at her bedside in her room, and she wondered if he had ever even been in her room before. He looked strange, among her things, sitting in a spot that—Kit had once occupied.

The pain was so intense that she wondered how anyone could ever survive this. When she whispered that to Lucien, quiet and soft, not able to meet his eyes, he had merely licked his lips, adjusted his glasses, and stared down at her as she lay, lifeless in bed, saying:

You may not be able to, Vesperin, but damn it all, if I have to pull you back from the edge with my bare hands, I will.

It had been the most emotion she had ever heard from the man, and she doubted it would ever be the last.

She clung to him, and he held her up, kept her safe, made sure she drank enough water, ate enough so she wouldn’t collapse, even when she pushed food away, too sick to eat.

Only, in her grief, she missed the way he always pulled back slightly when Sabine or Talor were in the room. When they held a gathering at the house, and it had become stifling, filled with their colleagues and people who smiled fake, sad smiles and gave their condolences. She had sequestered herself upstairs, in Kit’s room. Sat on his bed and held one of his leather jackets to her face and breathed in his scent of pure, clean air. Lucien had found her, sat on the bed with her, and wrapped his arm around her, letting her lean on him.

When Sabine had found them there, Lucien had torn away from Rin like she was diseased.

And Rin never thought to stop and wonder why—why Sabine’s eyes had narrowed. Why Lucien had steered Rin downstairs, away from Sabine, or why Kit’s mother never even shed a tear when her son had just died tragically.

Rin stoodamong the headstones like a ghost.

The sun was tucked away behind dark clouds, and she had never been more grateful. She didn’t think she could handle abeautiful day, not when they were all gathered before an empty casket.

The green carpet thrown over the uneven ground made her sway in her black heels as she shifted, hands cold as she twisted her fingers before her.

"Vesperin, really, don’t fidget so much." Sabine leaned over, her black dress perfectly pressed as she held an unused white tissue over her mouth to stifle her words.

The pastor’s voice washed over her. The occasional sniffle in the crowd made anger roil inside her stomach. They didn’t know him, none of them did—not like her. Even Sabine and Talor—Kit’s fuckingparents—didn’t know him like Rin did. She would never see him again. Not in this life.

As the pastor called them all to bow their heads and pray, Rin didn’t. Her tired, dry eyes stared vacantly at the closed casket. She had no tears left to give.

It was pretty. Dark wood topped with a spread of lilies. Not Nightfell roses. When Sabine had asked if she had wanted to donate a specific type of flower, Rin had kept her lips sealed. Nightfell roses were for Kit and Rin only.