Isaac didn't sleep that night.
Not for lack of trying. Not for lack of exhaustion. The bed beneath him felt too soft, too normal, as though the world outside his window—the quiet cityscape, the faint hum of distant rifts—were lies meant to lull him into forgetting.
He didn't forget.
The screams.
The civilians lost.
The sensation of gravity bending away as the rift devoured light and sound like it was swallowing the world itself.
He sat on the edge of his bunk, hands clasped, Isen resting against his thigh, dormant but humming faintly with residual Black Ice. His breaths came slow, measured, but each one carried the weight of failure.
A knock.
Soft.
"Isaac?" Lane's voice, hesitant, broke the silence.
He didn't look up immediately. He could feel her presence before she entered—the faint scent of water and soap clinging to her, her cautious steps measuring the floor like she was trying not to disturb him.
"I—" she started, then paused.
He finally looked at her. Eyes hollow but aware. "Lane."
She came closer, hands folded in front of her, voice soft but firm. "You saved most of them. You can't blame yourself for the rest."
Isaac let out a humorless laugh. "Most? Three were gone. Three. That's… it's too many."
Lane didn't flinch. "It's what happened. Not what you could have done."
He stared at her. Really stared. "And if it had been you?"
Her lips pressed together. "I don't get that choice," she said quietly. "But if it had… I'd want you to be here. Just like you were for them."
He swallowed, throat tight. He wanted to argue, to push the conversation away—but she didn't. She just waited, steady, unflinching.
Behind them, the dorm remained quiet. Others were asleep. Or at least pretending.
A sigh. Soft. Rebekah's voice came from the doorway. "You shouldn't be alone with your thoughts for too long."
Isaac looked up. She leaned against the doorframe, gauntlets dangling from her wrists, posture relaxed but alert. "They're sharp, but they don't leave. You know that, right?"
He nodded. "I know."
She stepped closer. "Then use them. Don't let them use you."
The words sank in slowly. Weight shifted, but it didn't vanish. He could feel Lane's presence beside him, Rebekah's cautious proximity, the distant echo of Roman and Sergio's silent judgment elsewhere in the dorm. They weren't angry. They weren't disappointed. They were waiting—expecting him to find a way forward.
He shifted, letting the Black Ice in Isen bleed faintly into the air, coating the room in subtle frost. The sensation calmed him—not peace, not relief, but control. That was enough for now.
Later, in the mess hall, the team gathered quietly. Meals untouched until the first conversation began. Sergio grinned faintly, breaking the tension. "Next time, try not to make the rift swallow half the ceiling."
Roman scowled. "You think that's funny?"
Sergio shrugged, still smiling. "Better than crying over it."
Lisa took a seat, scythe resting against the table, eyes on Isaac. "We can talk about control later," she said. "Right now, we plan. We adjust. You don't carry this alone. We do it together."
Isaac nodded. He let himself breathe in that moment, surrounded by the hum of normalcy and the faint, reassuring presence of those who had fought beside him.
Kira, quietly tucked into a corner with a bowl of porridge, glanced up. Eyes wide, observant. She didn't speak, didn't ask questions. But Isaac noticed her presence and let himself feel it—a small anchor in a world that kept shifting beneath him.
Lane caught his eye and gave the faintest of nods, as if saying you're still here. Rebekah's posture softened slightly, Sergio smirked but didn't speak, and Roman's careful gaze lingered—not judging, only measuring.
For the first time in hours, Isaac allowed himself a small, unsteady smile. Not a victory. Not closure. Not peace.
Just… a pause.
A quiet moment.
Because the cost of moving forward wasn't something to forget. It was something to carry—and for the first time, he realized maybe he could carry it without breaking.
The team didn't speak again that night. They didn't need to. They didn't have to.
And for Isaac, that quiet was enough.