It's hard—impossible, really, to ignore what Natalia is telling them when she's this close, when her words are so clear and full of hatred. Not directed at them, they force their brain to believe, but still loud and clear.

It's because it's so clear, though, that Hope doesn't really want to acknowledge it. They shut their eyes and try to force the tears to stop coming, but they obviously won't ebb that easily. "Shut up," they say, their throat tight. "I can't shut everything out like that. I would've done it years ago." Words are difficult like this, like they've been the whole time, like they're all stopped up inside Hope's chest. There won't be some big speech from this grown adult, from the now-oldest Nova Knight, from the person who's supposed to be some kind of responsible pillar who only feels crumbling and ancient.

"I wish you knew what I had to deal with from myself every single day." It's not even something powerful or biting. It's just pathetic. They're pathetic.