He said it like a question. Like he needed you to confirm it.

The gate behind you — a jagged tear of red and black — had sealed itself shut with a sound like a held breath finally released. The others were scattered, some kneeling, some crying, some just standing there in the silence, waiting for something else to attack.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. His eyes were tired, rimmed with red, but soft. The same eyes that had looked at you across a thousand bedroom ceilings, whispered secrets into your hair, promised you mornings after the longest nights.