ishmira watches him shrink beneath her silence, cowering like a child scolded. even as the heat in her blood cools, it leaves a tremble in her bones, the fading aftershock of some internal battle.

you didn't know. she repeats, low and flat— almost to herself. her eyes, icy and unblinking, fix upon him. he is not an enemy, not quite, but he is not forgiven either.

you didn't. because you were lucky. because you were gone, and i was there. her voice never raises, but there is a sharpness to it that cuts more cleanly than a scream ever could. and while you were off chasing clouds and butterflies, i bled upon the dirt he called home.

she turns away, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed toward the horizon like she might ignite it with look alone.

i see him in you. she admits quietly now, bitterly. in the way you walk. the way you stand. in your silence, sometimes.

there is no venom anymore. only the ache of memory, the burdon of too many ghosts for one so young.

but you're not him, she says after a long pause, wind brushing her fur like an unwelcome hand. she grimaces against it, curls her lip. her throat bobs as she swallows something more difficult than rage— compassion. understanding. she kneads the earth with her paws.

but i can't forget. i won't. so if you're really sorry...stay that way. carry it with you. she looks up at him again, and though her gaze is still hard, there is no longet malice beneath it. only the slow thaw of something broken.

and don't ever pretend it didn't happen.