Charlotte thought she saw the distant figures start to separate. She had to stop her foolish, honorable husband before he got himself killed; she had to take matters into her own hands.

“I see only one logical response to your plan,” she told her brother as she peeled off her glove.

“I thought you might feel that way,” he responded with a smug smile.

A fraction of a second later her fist struck his nose with every ounce of strength she possessed. She didn’t wait to witness his reaction, but took off in the direction of the trees, following Crouch’s path as he veered off toward the left. Judging from the cursing at her back, her brother was not far behind.

She burst through the trees just in time to see the Pretender aim his pistol at her husband. Then there was a familiar blast and a black puff of smoke belching from the pistol. Her heart stopped as her husband staggered, then clutched at his chest before dropping to the ground.

“Dare!” she screamed with enough volume to disturb a flock of birds roosting in a nearby tree. Another blast echoed as Batsfoam snatched up the second loaded pistol and fired at the Pretender, but Charlotte ignored Geoffrey as he fell screaming to the ground. Her eyes were focused on her husband’s body. Somehow she made it across the field, flung herself onto Dare’s chest, sobbing his name as her heart fractured into a million aching pieces. His coat had fallen aside to expose a huge red stain directly over his heart, but try as Charlotte did, she couldn’t see through the tears enough to find his wound and stop it from bleeding.

“How could you do this to me?” she sobbed as she struggled with his neck cloth, her hot tears spilling down her cheeks to splash on her hands. “Do I matter so little? How could you be so careless with yourself? Oh, Dare, I love you so much, I can’t go on without you, don’t you know that you stupid, stupid man?”

“If you don’t let go of my neck, you’re going to strangle me, woman,” came a whispered reply.

Charlotte stared down at her husband in shock, utter and complete shock. His good eye opened just enough for her to see a glint of blue.

“Dare?” she said hesitantly, her bloodstained fingers still buried in the folds of his neck cloth. “Dare?”

“Shhhh,” he replied inexplicably, his eye closing again. “Act like I’m dead. Cry and wail a lot, you were doing a good job until you stopped.”

His eye opened again, briefly, just long enough for him to say, “And I love you, too. I’ll never leave you, Char. Never.”

She stared at him, stared at his still figure beneath her fingers, aware dimly that others had come up next to her. He wanted her to act like he was dead? To cry and wail? He wanted her to act like he was dead? Act?