Eliana was already in motion, crossing the space between them before the echo of his last breath had even settled.
"Henry," she said softly, his name threaded with urgency as her hand lifted on instinct, hovering near his arm as if she could steady him by touch alone. "Breathe. Please. You're spiraling."
He let out a sharp, broken laugh and raked a hand through his hair, fingers tugging hard enough to hurt. "I can't," he snapped, voice fraying at the edges. "I waited too long. I always wait too long."
He paced once, then again, boots grinding against the ground. "I should've gone after her the moment she walked out of that hall. I should've said something—anything. Instead, I just stood there. Like an idiot. And I let her go."
The words poured out faster now, tangled and raw, like if he stopped speaking he might shatter entirely.
