"You think I'm a monster," I whisper, the words barely audible even to my own ears. I feel the power inside me churning and reaching out into the room. The normally silent clouds above the bathing pool rumble with the low sound of thunder.

Raith's eyes never leave mine. "No," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "I think you were a child who didn't understand her power." He reaches for me, fingers brushing my cheek with unexpected tenderness. "It wasn't your fault, Nessa."

I try to pull away, but he doesn't let me retreat. "You don't know⁠—"

"I saw it all," he insists, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone. "The storm started before you even realized what was happening. You tried to stop it. You did everything you could."

"I could've done more."

"I was in your head, Nessa. I saw it with my own eyes. You swam in those waters for hours. You kept diving for them long after you knew there was no way they were alive. You kept going until you passed out and the waves carried you back to shore. Fuck, Nessa. You did more than most would do. Nobody could blame you."

"My mom and sister did."

The thunder above the pool rumbles again, deep and heavy.

He winces, but resolve hardens his features a moment later. "They didn't see what I saw. It wasn't. Your. Fault. Do you hear me, Nessa? It wasn't your fault. They didn't forgive you? That's their failure."

Something breaks inside me—a dam I've built around my grief and guilt. My eyes burn with tears I've refused to shed for years. "They died because of me. Because I couldn't control it."

"They died because of a storm," he says firmly. "Because of powers you didn't understand and couldn't control. You were a child. Trust me, I know about blame. About living with ghosts. About carrying that weight—wondering if there was more you could've done. Walking yourself through it countless times searching for the one thing you could've changed about that day."

Through our tether, I feel the truth of his words—the understanding, the acceptance. It's overwhelming. But beneath it lies something else, something he's not saying aloud.

"Listen to me, Nessa. Running from ghosts is no way to live. Do it long enough, and you become a ghost yourself. All we have is right now. Here. We can't change the past, but we can use it to find strength. So don't run from your past. Use it. Grow from it. Because I need you to be strong. I can't fucking lose you, too. Losing you… it would fucking ruin me."

The admission hangs between us, raw and honest. I reach up, covering his hands with mine where they still cradle my face.

"I don't want to lose you, either," I whisper, leaning into his touch.