The armory remained silent long after Catherine's sobs faded into tired shivers.
Silent—except for the faint metallic tremors still rolling through the scattered armor pieces, the trembling of steel on stone mimicking frightened ghosts clinging to the memory of her earlier rampage.
Those quivering echoes skittered along the floor as if the armor itself recoiled from the storm she had unleashed.
Catherine clung to Aiden, breath shaking in his chestplate, fingers digging into the back seams of his armor hard enough to creak the leather beneath.
Her grip wasn't a plea for comfort—it was desperation, a last mooring to something solid while the entire world ripped out from beneath her. She held him as though releasing even a fraction of her grip would let the grief swallow her whole.
Aiden did not move.
He didn't speak. Didn't adjust his stance. He simply stood firm, arms wrapping gently but unwaveringly around her trembling frame.
