In moments of sensory overload, Hrida’s body did her a favor; her sensitive hearing would fade out until she viewed the world through a pane of soundproof glass. The explosion painted everything a horrific shade of neon, the yellows and reds too bright and harsh.
Beside her, Tracey stood alone, teeth bared in grief, one hand clutching her wrist like it was the last thing she had left to hold onto.
Kol unfolded himself gradually, his eyes widening as he took in the scene around them. The scarred pavement, the empty windows blown free of glass, the rubble of the wrecked buildings. From here, Hrida wasn’t sure, but a brief glimmer of emotion surfaced before his face hardened, and he turned away.
The feeling of someone’s arms settling around her shoulders answered that question. All at once, her emotions came crashing in, and she turned around, burying her face in Derrick's sweater. He didn’t say a word, only stood there and held her, looking out over the shattered street as the fire slowly burned out.