Bronwyn was stunned. She had come to believe that Malachai couldn't be killed... yet his stiff limbs and blank, empty eyes were hard to refute. The body hadn't been there long, less than a day. It hadn't yet begun to bloat with gas, but the skin was flat, slate gray.<br/>Her hands shook as she dialed emergency and spoke with the crisp, professional operator. She hung up when the woman demanded identification, knowing that they would find it impossible to trace her number.<br/>"Let's go." She said, tugging gently on Tara's arm. "They'll be here soon."<br/>Tears dripped from Tara's chin as they fled the vacant lot. Bronwyn's eyes were dry, but no less full of grief. All their history, obligations, shared memories, all of it... all of it ended with Malachai's cold, bloody corpse laying abandoned behind them. Guilt welled up, hard and heavy and familiar, as Malachai's death was added to the list of deaths that she should have prevented. With each blink of her tearless eyes, another face flashed across her memory. Another life. Another death. Most only alive now in her ancient memories.<br/>Remembered pain threatened to overwhelm her. She fought to stay in the present with each forced step. She inhaled deep and slow and reached out to take Tara's hand, both for comfort and to ground herself.<br/>The two women turned onto the Riverwalk and made their way slowly to the appointed meeting place, each fighting in their own way to regain their composure.