Not even Maris.

Anytime she glanced at him, there had been the most beautiful twitching of her lips as if she was trying not to smile. A joy in her gaze that had never failed to set him on fire.

And now the last image of her, the one that would haunt him forever, was of her bruised and bloodied. Of her amber eyes lifeless and empty…

Reality crashed over him and ripped him straight out of his body. He saw himself as if he were looking down on the small group. Drake’s pale face was drawn, but vengeance glowed in his eyes. Ryn and Hauk stood behind Nykyrian wearing the same stoic expression Nykyrian held as they braced themselves for his reaction.

Maris stood behind him with one arm around his waist and the other wrapped around his shoulders. He had his forehead pressed against the back of Darling’s head and he felt Maris’s hot tears on his neck as his best friend trembled and wept from his own grief. It was a protective hug, the kind Darling had used with Drake and Lise when they were children and he’d wanted them to feel secure and safe in the midst of all hell busting loose.

But he didn’t feel secure. And he had no right to feel safe. Not after he’d allowed the only woman he’d ever loved to leave his protection and be tortured to death.

The grief and misery inside was so great that it left him suddenly numb. It was as if his mind knew he couldn’t handle the full magnitude of her loss. So it shielded him with a cloak of apathy.

He hadn’t felt like this since the day his father had been buried and he’d realized nothing would ever be the same—that he would never be the same. The first time his life had shattered into a trillion jagged pieces that had lacerated every part of him, body and soul.

And he knew it wouldn’t last. Sooner or later, his mind would drop the shield and all that pain would flood over him. Even sharper and deeper, until there was nothing left except a rage so foul it would challenge his sanity.

Zarya was dead.

It didn’t seem possible. Yet there was no denying that photo. She was gone from him.

I’ll never hear her voice again. Never wake up with her hand tangled in his hair.

Never again have her stick her cold feet on his back whenever she got in bed with him…

He would even miss the way she always stole food off his plate before he had a chance to taste it. Those things had made him snap at her. They’d made him crazy.

I would sell my soul to feel those icy feet shock my skin one more time…

How could the gods have done this to him? Had he not suffered enough in his wretched life? Was he not allowed one shred of happiness after all he’d been through?