"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Violent-Medic
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Clarice came to a halt when she heard Ty’s voice. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to turn around, so she stood still as he spoke and stayed silent for a bit afterwards.

Part of her just wanted to walk away. Part of her still hated him. For Conrad. For leaving. Even for the stupid jerk things Ty had done years ago. A lifetime ago. Part of her wanted to continue on without ever seeing his jerk face again.

But that part of her wasn’t as strong as it’d been a few days ago. Almost everyone she’d met in the first couple of days was dead now, along with most of their killers. Everything was just a haze of death followed by more death, and it’d long since stopped having any meaning. In the end, did it really matter who was to blame specifically for each person’s death, when all the blame should be thrown in the face of the people who left them here?

Besides. Ty was her friend. She hated him a little, but he was still her friend.

She turned around. Ty had his hands up.

“Put your hands down, dipshit.”

Clarice studied him from a moment—unhurt, physically, but the island could do worse than physical harm. Then she took a few steps forward before grabbing him in a one-armed hug.

“...Sorry.”

She didn’t know if she meant sorry about Bee, or sorry for the blame she’d thrown at him. Maybe both. Both was good.
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