i can hear them whisper as they pass by

Koa

Don't take this the wrong way
You knew who I was with every step that I ran to you

The look Noe gives him, when she finally does, has Koa shattering all over again. There's a cavernous void that yawns behind those eyes, the devastating emptiness of someone who's trying with all their being not to feel. It's not his sister, this shade, this echo, and all he wants is to march back to Vox and wrap his arms around the bastard's neck and throttle him until he gives back that fire and spark, the thing that will ignite her into the Noe who is laughter and embers and chaos and light.

But he catches the look Kaisel flashes and reads it as what it is: a plea, a warning, the reminder that right now isn't about his feelings and he has to get his shit under control. So it is that with a Herculean amount of emotional effort Koa forces himself to smile, his face a mask of reassurance that hides the anguish in his soul. He can scream internally, let the devastation ricochet through his chest, echoes on echoes reverberating where nobody else can hear. It'll be fine. He'll be fine.

He has to be. For them.

They reach the apartment without incident, Koa smiling gratefully to Sohalia as she ushers them inside. "Thanks, Soh. For everything," he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek and a squeeze against her hand before turning his attention to Noe. His sister has drifted like a wraith to the window, an oppressive haze of quiet misery humming around her like a cloud. Koa can't begin to imagine what she's thinking, feeling; he had expected the aftermath of her rescue to feel like a celebration, not a wake. Steeling himself, he strides across the living room toward her, stopping when they're shoulder-to-shoulder, a pair of children gazing for answers at the edge of the sea.

"Reminds me of when we used to go to the Falling with Mom and look for ships." His voice is a low murmur, the warm, soothing tone he used to use when she'd crawl into his bed in the middle of the night, begging for a story to distract her from the nightmare of grief when their mother died. "Do you remember? We'd make up stories about where they were going and who their Captains were and what kind of adventures they'd had." He glances sidelong down at Noe, trying to gauge how she's responding to this tactic. His right arm snakes around her shoulders, solid and gentle, an invitation for her to come in close, to let him hold whatever it is she's going through - at least for a time. "You'd always come up with the wildest stories. I was always so impressed, even if I didn't understand all your logic. It didn't matter- I loved getting a look at what was going on in that clever brain of yours."

He doesn't say the last part, but it's hanging there between them: he'd love to know what's going on in her mind right now, if only she'll let him in.

Only blue or black days
Electing strange perfections in any stranger I choose