He thinks about yelling into the emptiness of the night sky with August after Erik died, cracking a well of helplessness that couldn't fit into words. It hadn't made everything better, but after days of performing his grief for millions of eyes, and suffocating on the profound sense that he was alone, and he would always be alone — it felt like something.

Without warning, he tips his head back and pours out a wordless howl. He lets it hang for several long seconds, and then he storms through the remnants of Kell's garden. He kicks the rosebushes with every ounce of technique Kyle has taught him, scattering a shrapnel of petals across the ground.

It's not just for Kell. It's for Rhy, and maybe most of all for Kelson, who's still a wound he hasn't recovered from. It's for the good byes he never got to say, and for the memories he never got to make.