Capture

Saying Goodbye

"You okay?" Harry asked gently from the driver's side.

I didn't look at him. My eyes were fixed on the golden hillside outside the window—peaceful, warm, beautiful, like the world didn't know it had ended. That it hadn't bled out beneath a winter sky.

We were parked at the base of the hill, people already making their slow, solemn walk up toward the massive tree that stood at the top. "Emma?"

I opened the door and stepped out into the crisp January air, my boots crunching over dead grass. Harry called after me again, but I didn't answer. I just kept walking.

"Emma, please talk to me," he said, catching up and grabbing my arm to slow me down.

I yanked my arm from his grip, whipping around. "Let go of my arm, Harry, before I rip yours off and beat you with it."

He flinched but didn't back down. "I know you're hurting. I'm just trying to help."

"Then help me by telling me where Liam is."

His face faltered. "Em... he's gone." Harry's voice dropped to a whisper, like saying it quieter would make it easier. "You saw him die."

"No." I shook my head violently. "No, I didn't see anything. I saw blood, I saw snow—I didn't see-- I didn't see him die."

"Emma..." His tone shifted. Tired. Pained. "Don't do this."

"I know you're hiding him. You and your little team of agents. This is just another cover-up."

"It's not."

I stared at him, eyes burning. "If you're not going to tell me where you're keeping him, then stay the hell away from me."

And I turned, walking alone. My chest ached, my throat closing around the tears I wouldn't let fall because he wasn't gone. He couldn't be.

Not Liam. 

I huffed quietly, walking up the rest of the hill toward the crowd gathered beneath the giant tree. I didn't recognize many faces—just blurred outlines of black coats and bowed heads. Grief had a way of making everyone look the same. I scanned the crowd anyway, hoping—no, aching—to see Liam's face among them.

It kept happening. Every time I passed a stranger, every corner I turned, I'd catch a glimpse of someone and swear it was him. The shape of a jawline, the curve of a smile—my heart would leap and crash in the same breath. Each time I realized it wasn't him, it felt like another tiny piece of me died.

Then I saw Niall.

Even from across the hill, he looked... hollow. His blond hair was hidden beneath a worn newsboy cap, but I'd know that walk, that weight on his shoulders, anywhere. He looked up, met my eyes for only a second, and looked away.

Three women stood near the front—Liam's family. I'd never met them. Now I never would. The oldest woman—his mother, I assumed—was crying quietly while the two younger women beside her stood silent and still, holding each other. A little boy clung to one of their hands. A nephew, maybe? I never even thought to ask Liam if he had nieces or nephews. We had barely begun to unearth each other's pasts. We thought we had time.

But time didn't care.

As they each placed a single rose on the coffin, Liam's coffin. I had to look away. Seeing them—the same soft eyes Liam had—was like a dagger through my chest.

After the ceremony, the crowd dispersed. I didn't move. I stayed back, far enough not to be noticed by his family. Far enough not to interrupt their grief with mine.