She was staring back when he looked at her guiltily, still alive. Still flame and flickers, fire and heat without an ash in sight. And she’d be damned if that wasn’t going to stay as such, staring and daring him to voice that guilt. Because she’d shoot it all down with reassurances and love the whole way.
“You’re so going to take yoga.” It was droll, and an entirely inappropriate statement for the situation, but she was repeating what she had said earlier in the day when David had talked about calming techniques. “We’ll color together too or whatever.” Coloring was supposed to be calming, keeping one focused but not overwhelmed, right? Her head bumped against the wall, more tender than usual thanks to Kerry, and lolled her head to the side to offer him a rueful smile. The smile faded as he went on, the realization of what happened to her horrifying. Fucking terrifying. And causing her resolve to harden.
The school sounded like the key. If it was for mutants, a school for them, then it would stand to reason that they had other telepaths. A cavalry of many, instead of an army of one. And others, like her and Ptonomy, Cary and Kerry. Like a million other people with abilities that she could only begin to dream about. Looking around the room again, this time imagining outside of it rather than in it, she wondered if there were any of them out there now. Hiding, like they were. Trying to survive.
But they had to find them, in her time. Maybe even now. “Was there anyone—“ she started quietly. “Is there anyone else out there, do you know?” There had to be. Somewhere. Right? Or else was the Shadow King crown of a world of ash and soot? That didn’t particularly sound like Farouk’s tastes.
She was going to smash that thing like the cockroach it was next time they meet up. That made her sit up, eyes wide. “Oliver. Does it still have Oliver? And the blade…thing. Is it…tangible? Could I use it?” It was a half-cocked idea, but the thought of trying to grab Oliver back using that invisibility cloak, a possible blade, and the Spanish Inquisition in the form of a dead blonde was, at the very least, an idea.