Not Himself.

Rey finds Ace at the car, hands trembling as he struggles to lift his father's body.

The sight punches the air out of Rey's lungs.

Ace's fingers clutch the fabric of Marsel's shirt, his breathing heavy, uneven. His body is tense, as if sheer willpower alone is holding him together.

Without looking up, Ace orders, his voice hoarse but firm, "Hold his legs for me."

There's no hesitation.

Rey moves instantly, gripping Marsel's legs, the weight of the body pressing into his arms. He doesn't speak. There's nothing to say.

Ace secures his hold on Marsel's head and shoulders, cradling him as gently as possible.

They lift together.

The body is cold. Lifeless. Wrong.

Rey swallows hard. His throat feels tight.

They carry him out.

The pack members gather around, silent, their sorrow thick in the air. They don't need words to express their grief, it's written all over their faces.