The voice was finally quiet. Quinn could hear herself think.

But she wished she couldn't.

The elevator was [i]burning.[/i] The lake was [i]burning.[/i] The town was [i]burning.[/i] Everything was [i]burning.[/i]

[i]Safie's Savior was burning.[/i]

As the cataclysm behind her fell away, she couldn't do what Daz said. The scene held her gaze, fires reflected in her wide, glazed eye.

At some point she'd found her voice, and she slowly became aware she was gibbering, more scratch than voice. "[color=FFE63D]Is Safie—Safie isn't—where's—is she—she's—tell me she's—[/color]" The headless wreck of [i]Jubilee[/i] was still visible over the wreckage of Hovvi.

Her voice broke, air hissing out with no rhyme or reason. She couldn't talk anymore. Her throat hurt. Her legs hurt. Her feet hurt. Her head hurt. Her tummy hurt. It all hurt.

As she watched, something streaked towards Hovvi—what used to be Hovvi—from above. She couldn't tell. Her vision had gone blurry, and darkness was creeping around the edges. She couldn't watch anymore. But she could still smell. The boat. The spreading pool. The lake's water. Smoke, dust, burning. [i]Her[/i] water, bitter and cloying and awful and cruel.

She couldn't talk anymore. But that didn't mean there were no sounds she could make.

She buried her head in the crook of Daz's neck and [b][i]wailed.[/i][/b] Over. And over. And over.

The darkness swallowed her. She could tell, even without seeing.

At some point, the wails stopped.

So did sh[color=black]e.[/color]