I swallowed hard. Part of me wanted to scream at her, tell her it was her own fault, tell her she had ruined everything, but another part, the quieter, softer part, felt something like compassion. She was human. She had made mistakes. She had been hurt. She was alone now, and fear gripped her in ways that mirrored the way my own chest felt, tight, heavy, impossible to ignore.

I took a slow step forward, my hands dropping to my sides. “Celeste… you are in a mess,” I said instead. I could ...