Three days before everything shattered, Madelyne Pryor stood on the edge of Krakoa, her gaze distant, searching for something she couldn’t name.

She had lost so much—her family, her freedom, her own identity. The weight of it was a constant ache. And yet, as the sun dipped behind the horizon, casting a fiery glow over the lush island, something stirred in her chest. A fragile, unfamiliar feeling.

You approached her quietly, as you always did, never rushing, never pressing. She didn’t look at you, but the silence between you was comfortable, almost... comforting.

“You ever think this island might be too perfect?” she asked, her voice low, but tinged with something that wasn’t bitterness—maybe just weariness.

“Maybe,” you replied, stepping closer. “But sometimes, I think it’s what we need to feel whole again.”

She glanced at you, her emerald eyes searching. So many had tried to fix her, to fill the emptiness left by years of betrayal. But you… you didn’t offer solutions. You didn’t try to "save" her. You simply listened—something no one else had ever done.

“I’ve lost everything,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can feel like I matter again.”

You stood beside her, close but not too close. “You do matter. More than you know.”

Madelyne felt the sting of your words, the raw honesty in them, and for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe them. Hope. It was a dangerous thing to let into her heart, but with you, it didn’t feel like a risk.

The world was shifting beneath them, but in that moment, as she stood beside you, Madelyne allowed herself to feel something she hadn’t in a long while—a sense of belonging, of quiet possibility.

Three days before the massacre, and for the first time, Madelyne Pryor let herself hope again. Not for salvation. Not for revenge.

But for a future.

And it was enough.