[ Before the expedition, he hadn't really known Lune all that well... no matter what Sophie had implied. Or known.
They'd worked and trained together, of course, but Tristan had been the one who really knew her, who'd been close to her. They'd had separate, overlapping circles.
Now, he looks at her and realizes he can interpret her expression — that faint tightness to her jaw and the dissatisfied look in her eyes — with hardly any effort, anymore. They've been thrown together into this pressure cooker and come out as tightly entangled as he's ever been with anyone who wasn't Maelle or Sophie. She might known him better now than Emma ever has.
She'd be well within her rights to blame him, if they ever find evidence that there were other survivors, that they'd left them behind in his desperate need to find Maelle. (If that's the case, he'd never forgive himself, either, but neither could he have made any other choice. It weighs on his heart like a stone, only the first impossible choice theur were asked to make here.) ]
I don't know. Maybe it was the Curator.
[ He's far enough removed from his panic in that moment for curiosity to nudge him again, mulling it over as he stares up at the stars. Could it have been the Curator? It certainly couldn't have been Noco. Nothing about that message seemed anything like what a gestral would write. (It hadn't been challenging anyone to a fight, for one thing.)
There are too many unknowns, and it makes him uneasy, on edge. ]
Maybe if we find more expedition journals, we'll learn more about who else might be here, and who could have brought her to that manor and left us that note.
no subject
They'd worked and trained together, of course, but Tristan had been the one who really knew her, who'd been close to her. They'd had separate, overlapping circles.
Now, he looks at her and realizes he can interpret her expression — that faint tightness to her jaw and the dissatisfied look in her eyes — with hardly any effort, anymore. They've been thrown together into this pressure cooker and come out as tightly entangled as he's ever been with anyone who wasn't Maelle or Sophie. She might known him better now than Emma ever has.
She'd be well within her rights to blame him, if they ever find evidence that there were other survivors, that they'd left them behind in his desperate need to find Maelle. (If that's the case, he'd never forgive himself, either, but neither could he have made any other choice. It weighs on his heart like a stone, only the first impossible choice theur were asked to make here.) ]
I don't know. Maybe it was the Curator.
[ He's far enough removed from his panic in that moment for curiosity to nudge him again, mulling it over as he stares up at the stars. Could it have been the Curator? It certainly couldn't have been Noco. Nothing about that message seemed anything like what a gestral would write. (It hadn't been challenging anyone to a fight, for one thing.)
There are too many unknowns, and it makes him uneasy, on edge. ]
Maybe if we find more expedition journals, we'll learn more about who else might be here, and who could have brought her to that manor and left us that note.