His cheek against hers, his arms, warm and safe, and ... all of the horrors rushing back. The thick haze of smoke, the whine of the gears, corridors filled with fiends and bodies, and she couldn't stop, couldn't fold the arms and close the eyes, couldn't check to see if 'dead' was just 'injured', couldn't grab them and bring them along, because Home was crashing down and Yunie was in the Sanctum and her friends, her family, her tribe was lying dead around her.

Yuna gone, Dona and Isaaru sending the dead. Everything in ruins. Everything they had worked for. Everything they were.

She turned, sideways, sliding her arms around and settling in lower, face pressed against the curve of his neck. He wouldn't tell if her shoulders were trembling. He wouldn't tell if his neck got damp. He wouldn't tell if she let herself feel it, just once.