She couldn’t breathe.

The smoke clung to her throat, thick and acrid, and her ears rang with a high, constant whine that blocked out everything but her heartbeat. Her hands scrabbled over chunks of broken stone and scorched metal, the jagged edges slicing into her palms, she didn’t notice.

She’d been too late.

Everything was gone. Claggor and Mylo were buried in the wreckage, their bodies still, lifeless. She’d found them. She knew.

Her vision blurred, but not from dust. Her chest felt like it was caving in.

And then she saw you. you weren't supposed to be here.

you, her little sister, stood in the doorway like a ghost, wide-eyed, lip trembling, soot streaked down your cheeks. In your hands, you clutched that twisted thing you called a creation. your eyes lit up with some awful hope, like you'd done something right.

Vi froze.

Her throat tightened. She turned, slowly, unable to stop her hands from curling into fists. Her voice, when it came, was raw and shaking.

Vi: “You did this?” she asked, barely more than a whisper.