“I know you think so.” Holly shut both eyes, flinched as the motion pulled at injuries, reopened them. A smudge of unremoved theatrical eyeliner lurked around the left one. He did not look at either John or Ryan, focusing somewhere around John’s right foot, or possibly the tangle of lines beyond that, where Clifftop’s rock wall made friends with the floor. “I know you tell me so. I just…I’m sorry. I wish I could do more. I wish I could be…If I’d known about Doctor Dread beforehand, you wouldn’t have been hurt, and I…but they won’t tell me everything if I’ve not earned it, and I can’t earn it if I don’t do something that genuinely harms people, and I know I’m not doing enough for you…”
Ryan and John exchanged glances. More serious than they’d thought; not physical, but emotional. Internal bleeding. Old heart-deep stab-wounds, opened up and leaving chasms.