The lights burn white against my vision, heat settling across my shoulders. The crowd hums — low voices, shifting seats, camera shutters. My hands rest loosely on my knees, every movement measured.

“Hero work isn’t… easy,” I say, voice level. “But it’s not supposed to be.”

My gaze drifts toward the audience — once, twice — scanning without hurry, as if I’m just taking in the room. I’m not. She isn’t here. The space where she should be feels sharper than the lights.

I turn back to the interviewer, jaw setting almost imperceptibly. “You find ways to manage,” I continue. “If you have something… or someone… worth holding onto, it makes it easier.”

The host chuckles at the non-answer, leaning in for more. I don’t give it. My words weren’t meant for them.