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Mr. Danya
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More words from Matt, continuing to fall on deaf ears. The gears in Nate’s brain were fighting against all the noise, all the debris, all the horrible mess in his mind, to actually respond.

“Matt.” Nate finally whispered in recognition, barely more than a whimper. He continued to stare at him, mouth agape. The sound of his voice has been the only clue, everything else about the figure seemed fuzzy. The blood, the weapon, the attitude; it didn’t mean much of anything.

“Where did… what was…who…?”

Attempts at questions, utterly failing. Coherent sentences were gone, but he wasn’t even aware what he was trying to ask to begin with. It was some holdover from earlier in this nightmare, back when they’d first been separated, where he’d imagined their happy reunion. Like echoes.

“Matt.” He repeated, turning away from the ocean and onto his palms and knees, staring up at someone he wanted so desperately to talk to.
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