### **Chapter 5: The Weight of Everything**
Nadia sat in the sterile hospital chair, her back hunched and her fingers trembling as they traced the ridges of her father's cold, lifeless hand. Her eyes stung, a tightness forming in her chest, but she didn't let the tears fall. Not now. Not in front of Zaryn. She couldn't let him see her break like this. She couldn't let him see the cracks forming in the armor she had worked so hard to build around herself.
She swallowed hard, biting down on the inside of her cheek as she stared at her father's face. It didn't even look like him anymore. His skin was pale, his features sunken, and the familiar warmth she had always known was gone. Replaced by nothingness.
Nadia's hands curled into fists on her lap, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to keep her emotions under control. She wouldn't let herself cry. Not now. Not here. Not in front of Zaryn, who stood beside her in his usual detached calm, his face unreadable, like he was simply observing the scene rather than living it.
He didn't know what this felt like—couldn't possibly understand the crushing weight of loss that was pressing down on her, making it hard to breathe. She couldn't show weakness in front of him. She couldn't let him see how much this was breaking her apart inside.
Zaryn stood there silently, a few feet away, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets. He hadn't said much since they'd arrived. Not that she expected him to. Zaryn wasn't the type to offer comforting words or meaningless platitudes. He was a watcher, an observer, and while Nadia knew he cared in his own way, he didn't express it like other people did. He didn't know *how* to express it.
And she was fine with that. It was why they got along. They both preferred silence over shallow attempts at emotional connection. But right now, that silence felt heavier than usual—oppressive, suffocating. Like there were things that needed to be said but neither of them knew how to say them.
Nadia blinked, her throat tight as she continued to sit there, her eyes fixed on her father's motionless form. She could feel Zaryn's presence beside her, a quiet, solid force, but it wasn't enough. Not right now. She needed something more. Something she couldn't even name.
But the tears wouldn't come. Not with him there. She wouldn't let them. She couldn't show him that part of herself—the part that was weak, vulnerable, shattered. Zaryn had never seen her cry. She wasn't about to let him start now.
Instead, she clenched her jaw and pushed the grief down, shoving it into the same dark corner where she had stored every other painful emotion she'd ever had. She could deal with it later. When she was alone. When no one was watching.
But not now.
---
Zaryn could feel the tension radiating off Nadia in waves. It wasn't like her to be so still, so quiet. Normally, even when she was brooding, there was this energy about her—this sharpness that kept her present, grounded. But right now, it was like she was drifting somewhere far away, lost in a place he couldn't follow.
He didn't know what to say. What did people say in situations like this? He'd never been good at comforting others, and honestly, he didn't think it was his place to. Nadia was strong—stronger than most people he knew. She didn't need him to tell her it was going to be okay. Because it wasn't. That much was clear.
He could see it in her face, in the way her eyes stayed locked on her father's lifeless body, her hands trembling just enough that it was noticeable if you were looking closely. And Zaryn *was* looking closely. He always was. People underestimated how much he noticed. They thought he didn't care, didn't pay attention, but the truth was, he saw more than he let on.
And right now, he saw that Nadia was holding back.
The room felt cold, the sterile smell of the hospital clinging to the air, making everything feel even more oppressive. Zaryn wanted to do something, but he didn't know what. Every instinct he had told him to stay silent, to give her space, but there was a small part of him that wondered if maybe—just maybe—he should say something.
But what?
What did people say when someone's world collapsed around them?
"Do you want to leave?" Zaryn's voice came out softer than he intended, and he immediately regretted the question. It felt too practical, too detached for the situation. But it was the only thing he could think to offer.
Nadia didn't look at him, didn't react to his words for a long moment. Then, slowly, she shook her head. "No," she whispered. Her voice was tight, like it was taking everything in her not to fall apart. "Not yet."
Zaryn didn't press. He simply nodded and stayed where he was, hovering close but not too close, his hands still shoved into his pockets, his posture stiff and awkward. He felt useless. Completely and utterly useless.
He wondered what it would feel like to grieve like this. He'd never lost anyone close to him—never had anyone close enough to lose, really. The concept of grief, of losing someone who meant something to you, was foreign to him. But watching Nadia now, he felt a strange, hollow ache in his chest that he didn't quite understand.
Was this what love felt like? That crushing weight, that suffocating feeling of helplessness? He didn't know. And honestly, he wasn't sure he wanted to find out.
Nadia let out a shaky breath, her hands still resting on her father's as she sat there, staring down at the lifeless form before her. "He was all I had left," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Zaryn swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. He wasn't good at this—at dealing with emotions, with loss. But he couldn't just stand there and say nothing, could he?
"You have me," he said, the words coming out before he could stop them.
Nadia finally looked up at him, her eyes wide and red, her expression unreadable. For a moment, she just stared at him, like she wasn't sure she had heard him right.
"You have me," he repeated, his voice a little firmer this time, though still quiet. He wasn't sure if it was the right thing to say, but it was the only thing he could think of.
Nadia blinked, her lips parting slightly as she took in his words. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—something raw, something fragile—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. She nodded, just once, her gaze dropping back to the floor. "I know," she whispered.
---
Time passed in a blur after that. Zaryn wasn't sure how long they stayed in that room, the sterile cold pressing down on them both. It felt like hours, though it could have been minutes. The weight of grief was palpable, hanging in the air like a fog neither of them could escape.
Eventually, a nurse came in, offering condolences that neither of them responded to. Nadia stood up, her movements slow and stiff, and Zaryn followed her out of the room without a word. They walked through the hospital in silence, the fluorescent lights above flickering as they made their way down the long, sterile hallways.
When they finally stepped outside, the cold evening air hit them both like a slap in the face. Nadia inhaled sharply, her breath visible in the chilly air, but still, she didn't cry. Zaryn knew she was holding it back, knew she was forcing herself to stay composed, to keep it together. And he didn't know how to feel about that.
He could tell she was doing it for him. She didn't want him to see her break. Didn't want him to see her cry. And Zaryn wasn't sure why that bothered him so much. He wasn't good with emotions—wasn't comfortable with them, really. But for some reason, the thought of Nadia holding back like this, bottling everything up just for his sake, felt wrong.
"Nadia…" He hesitated, unsure of how to continue. He wasn't good with words. He wasn't good at being comforting. But he couldn't just let this go, could he?
She didn't look at him. She just kept walking, her eyes focused straight ahead, her posture rigid, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her hoodie. "What?" Her voice was tight, controlled.
Zaryn let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. "You don't have to hold it back," he said quietly, his voice barely audible in the cold night air. "Not for me."
Nadia stopped walking. For a long moment, she didn't move, didn't say anything. Then, slowly, she turned to face him, her eyes wide, her expression unreadable.
And then, just like that, the tears she had been holding back finally fell.
She didn't make a sound. Didn't sob or wail or break down. She just stood there, silent, as the tears streamed down her face, her chest rising and falling with deep, shaky breaths.
Zaryn didn't know what to do. So he did the only thing he could think of.
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and pulled her into his arms.