Julia tries to recover by clearing her throat, but it’s too late, Angela picks up on it–she doesn’t react in shock though, but bites her lip gently. “I should have known. That’s why he always keeps that wristwatch on, isn’t it? He doesn’t want to be reminded of it, so tries to block it out, in his own way.”

She’s tried to bury that thought as deep down inside herself as far as anyone can, but it’s always there.

That one, awful, awful day she thought she could never tell another soul about, because no one would ever look at him the same way again. He claimed it was an accident, but she never believed him when he said that. It wasn’t hard to connect the lines–the funeral had been a month prior. He should have been having a twelfth birthday party with everyone else, his mom and dad smiling, cheering, doing stupid things like blowing out candles and singing haphazardly.

Instead, his mom and dad had been laid to rest, his world was broken, and he ran that same dagger that had saved all their lives across his wrist, right after she walked into the room, after her parents had been arguing. She screamed when it happened.

He’d been carted to the emergency room. Her mother had told her to never tell anyone. It was the one time she’d told her to keep a secret, forever.

Now, he just wears that old wristwatch of his father’s over the scar, to pretend it isn’t there, to hide the lingering regret he carries to this very day about it.

Finding out his mother was murdered, after all that…it felt like an insult to injury, and made the memory even more painful. Which as bad it was for her, likely made it so much worse for him.

“Julia?”

“What, you want me to confirm it?” She’s never talked that coldly to Angela before. It only falters her for a fraction of a second.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, at a minimum, and I get why.” Angela’s expression softens at the edges a little. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because you will never look at him the same way again if I do.” Angela still isn't deterred, and she can see that solemn look in her eyes that is sincere about wanting to know. She always puts her heart and soul into her words in a way that few else can.

“Julia…did your mom tell you not to?” She can’t believe that now, of all times, she doesn’t have the courage to push back.

The tiniest bit of slip in her composure forces her hand. She lets out an exhale so soft, not even a dragon could have heard it. Angela takes the moment, and walks to her side, before she sets down the training staff on a table. “There is no shame in talking about this. If you don’t think I can understand how badly he was hurt when his mom died, then I–” she stops, and waits for a second. Steady on her feet, not getting anxious, not trying to change the subject like anyone else would. “Samarina said something about him…something that I’m still trying to put together. She knows things. Strange things that make sense even in the absence of other facts. That he has a hurt soul. I’ve known that since the funeral, and healing something like that…it takes time.”

Julia finds herself talking–against the insistence of her mother, even against the insistence that Drenar would eventually talk about it on his own. But now her mother has been wrong twice. One, when she hid her true form, and the second, when they hid the truth about how Drenar’s mom died. A story they still don't know all the pieces to yet.

No. She has to talk about this, because she wants to.

“A month after his parents passed. I never said a word to anyone. We rushed him to the hospital–me, Mom, and Dad. Fates, Angela, if I hadn’t walked in, I–” she stops and is just out of words.

She punches a hole through the now thoroughly battered training target in one focused, furious swipe. There’s a heated rise to her words now. “If King’s telling the truth, what he did now likely seems so much worse for him.”

Angela takes a step forward, because she’s never seen Julia on the verge of tears, and she’s fighting with every fiber of her willpower not to. “I could have lost him. I would have lost my mind, and I–”

Angela has a grace that always surprises her, even as long as she's known her when she directs Julia to a bench, still fighting back tears. Of all the things to happen, the fact that this bitter reminder cropped back up today, of all days, leaves burning acid in the corners of her eyes. “She was the best of the best, and she’s dead. And that whole bullshit story, whatever they were trying to cover, led to Drenar slicing himself open. Right when I was in the room.”

Angela doesn't flinch, and instead wraps her arms around her shoulders. Gently. Graceful like everything she does, no matter what. Julia can’t punch or fight her way out of these feelings, and she takes a shuddering breath inwards, and holds it before she exhales in the same way. “You think that King is telling the truth,” Angela says after a brief silent spell.

“I know he is. I just couldn’t find the courage to say it last night, not in front of Drenar. I knew King wasn’t lying, because there’s too many pieces that add up an uncomfortable truth. Drenar’s mom had enemies. And they finally got her. They covered up her death, to protect Evan and Drenar.”

She’s not in control. Not in the slightest. “Angie, you know you can’t tell–”

“I would take it to my grave, unless Drenar said it first. Fates Julia, Drenar means as much to me as James, you, and Evan…and I could never judge him, after what he’s been through. I know it's not quite the same, but...I know how scars can have a lasting impact.” she taps gently at her chest, fingers lingering on a memory of a life almost cut tragically short. Julia squeezes Angelas fingers gently, her hand still perched on her shoulder, and she’s still fighting back stinging tears. “Tell me what happened. Please.”

She hesitates for only a second, if only to force back all those horrid thoughts and give her mind a reprieve. Taking a single shaky breath shouldn't be this hard. “It was about a day after his birthday. I…I’m trying to remember anything else about that day, and I just…it’s a blur.” Even as much as she wants to fight this feeling of tightness in her chest or the choking sensation in her throat, she can’t out-stubborn feelings. She sounds ragged now. Like she’s twelve now, all over again. “He was over at the house, with us. We were still making the arrangements with Diane, for him and Evan moving in with them. You remember that, right?”

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“Yeah. Not a lot of sleepful nights, back then,” Angela murmurs. “I remember both of you were depressed, big time.”

“Yeah, sleep was a foreign concept. Drenar had been upstairs, just…moping. He hadn’t said much to me that day. Mom and Dad were arguing downstairs. Dad got a note that he might be deployed soon–again–and my mom was furious, especially given that it was a pretty tragic time for the family. So, they got into some words, and I decided I didn’t want to listen to it. So, I headed upstairs.”

Angela laces her fingers through hers, and sits down next to her on the bench, all calm and filled with warmth. She continues, trying to remember everything. It’s a jumble of bad memories and flashy images, like she can’t remember everything leading up the moment. “I knew something was wrong when I heard him sobbing. I don’t know why I slowed down, when I got to the second floor landing. I could hear it. Those choked up gasps of someone who lost their entire world, and has no idea what they’re supposed to do. I remember walking up to the door, edging it open. Dad hated squeaky hinges, he oiled the hell out of those doors, and I edged it open. Normally I just walk in, but…that day, I didn’t.

“Drenar’s sitting there, on a seat, his back to me. He’s crying. He’d been doing that a lot, but he was utterly hoarse, creaky, all the life out of his voice. Like this time had been really bad. Evan was…I don’t remember where he was at the time. I see that he’s got that sheath for his Mom’s dagger on the floor.

“He’s got the dagger held in his left hand. He’s pressing the blade against his right wrist. He’s shaking and sobbing, that blade pressed against fragile skin, and I thought he might split himself open, right then and there. I stood there, paralyzed. Like I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing.” Angela’s gone stone cold calm, and dips her head lightly and holds her hand tightly.

“I finally took a step. He’s still sitting there, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. But he’s got the dagger still pressed down. I don’t know what I was thinking. I thought, maybe if I could just…get the knife away, I might stop him.” She hates how hard this is to talk about–choked up words that are fighting her will. To tell her best friend something she’s been unable to tell anyone for six years. “So, that's my plan. Get the knife away. I didn’t want to even try words. I didn’t know if he’d actually go through with it or not, he’d been numb on the inside for the entire month.

“Then, he stops sobbing as hard. It’s not right away, it’s like…that fading sound of a car as it drives down a road away from you, and you hear it far longer than when it's driving towards you. His body is still shuddering, but his hands have gone calm. He lets up on the knife, a little bit. I see a single drop of blood. Not much, but enough to know he had been dangerously close to doing something he’d regret.

“It’s so unnaturally quiet in that room. The only two things I hear are his sobs, and the sound of my own heartbeat in my chest, with the intensity of a jackhammer. I’m tense, hell I’m trying to fight saying anything. All I need to do is get the knife away.

“I’m about two or three meters away, and he lets up on the knife. He’s gone quiet. Then he whispers something. I still don’t know if I rightly remember what I heard, but he said something like, ‘I can’t let you down.’ I press my foot down trying to get close enough to tell him it’s going to be okay, and to hand me the dagger. A floorboard creaks, and it sounds louder than a gunshot in that room. It’s like that sharp crack of ice across a glacier, when that sheet of ice all lets go at once. It’s the most unnerving sound you’ll ever hear.” Angela holds her hand tighter, because Julia’s hand is trembling like it hasn’t for almost six years.

“He turns, and–and this is the part that I don’t remember–he turns, and I can’t remember if he pressed the blade down, or if he just forgot where his blade was so precariously close to, and he whirls around to face me. He’s got this wild-eyed shocked look. He’s got tears in his eyes, ruddy cheeks, all those freckles darkened by moisture. I don’t think it registered for a good two seconds what happened, in that one fluid motion.”

She digs her free hand into her leg, using that biting pain to try and will her voice to stay level for just a few more seconds. “That dagger is magically sharp, as we all know now. It cut his wrist badly. He looks down, when he sees the horrified look on my face, his mouth open.

“The last words I remember him uttering before everything blurs is ‘Dear Gaia, help me’.” Julia forces her eyes shut and tries to will those persistent weeps of bad memories away. “We got him to the hospital in record time, luckily I screamed to high hell after that moment, and Mom and Dad come darting in…applied a tourniquet, bandages. There was blood everywhere…and there I am, staring, screaming, helping tighten a belt, keep that blood in…Mom told me later it wasn’t as bad as it looked. Yeah. Tell that to the girl who watched her best friend almost filet his own arm,” she says bitterly.

“So, everything was put under wraps, after. He spent a couple of days in a recovery room. They watched him every second of the day, for those first two days. Mom and Dad let me visit him after that second day, because I wanted to. I remember him looking at me, weary, a face filled with horror, and he couldn’t look me in the eyes. He couldn’t say more than two words. He said ‘I’m sorry.’ As if almost killing yourself, even if by accident, can be fixed with an apology,” she says bitterly.

“I don’t think he meant to, Julia.” It’s the first time Angela’s said anything in the past few minutes. The luster in her gray-blue eyes is dimmed a bit, for the first time that Julia’s ever noticed. “I think he was close, though. He lost everything except Evan that day. He was there when they wheeled her in. He got to say the last few words to her. That…that kind of farewell…It sticks with people. An acidic burn on his memory that’s never going to go away.”

“Angie…I wish I shared your optimism. I really do. But he’s got damages that time alone isn’t going to fix.” that clawing, clenching feeling in her windpipe still hasn’t gone away, and her mouth is dry. Talking about this, is physically as it is mentally taxing, and her cheeks are swollen and aching. Angela wraps her arms around her gently, and gives her a tight hug, while trying to keep her own composure. She’s barely keeping it in, too, which makes it slightly more bearable.

“He’ll heal eventually, Julia. Because he’s got something to live for now. Not just us, not anymore. I think he’s doing this because of a calling. It might even be outlandish or insane, but, maybe he’s heard the calling of the Valkyries for a reason. Like we all have. Except James, strangely enough–”

“Angie, shut up and hold me for a few minutes. Because I really could use a good hug for a bit.” She finally gives up trying to hold in tears that she's held in too long. “This entire time, I've just held it in my head that he hurt himself because–because he didn't want to be alone. And maybe I've just had it wrong. Maybe I pulled him back from the edge.”

Losing Dad had been hard. The tears then, though…it wasn’t as bad as this. She doesn’t know why this one hurts so much worse, while she’s choking and sobbing on Angela’s shoulder.

She’s been holding this one in for too long. Angela runs her fingers through her hair gently–she doesn’t remember undoing the tie on her hair, but she doesn’t mind it, either.

Neither of them says a word for a few minutes. She realizes that maybe, just maybe, she needed this moment for a long time. Ever since this chaotic, crazy mess started two weeks ago, she’s been worried about losing him, worried he might be taking on a task too big, even for him. But that’s not entirely true–she’d always be right beside him, and they’d take on the impossible together.

Eventually, life comes back into the room, and she lets out a shuddering breath before wiping her face with her sleeve. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone you saw me cry, alright?”

“Julia, you can let your feelings out when you need to. Everyone should,” Angela says with a faint smile. “I think there's one more really important thing to remember. Even as bad as that time was, as far as Drenar is from who he used to be…he's made progress, Julia. You both have. And after everything that's happened in the past couple of weeks, I don't think there's a shred of doubt in my mind that Drenar would never go back down that path. Because he's got something to live for, and someone to fight for.”

That’s when she hears a scuff of a shoe. Right outside the door.

Oh no. Don’t tell me that he heard all that. Angela picks up on it, too, when she turns to the doorway to the rec room. “You can come in when you're ready, Drenar."