The blood drained from Maeve Ashbound's face.
Brittany sat to Alexandra's left with tears rolling down her cheeks and her eyes swollen red. Trisha sat to her right, jaw trembling, hands locked onto the armrests of her chair with the white-knuckled grip of someone trying to keep herself in the seat. Two A-tier fighters who could kill most living things on the planet, sitting in front of a camera and weeping.
Alexandra looked at Brittany first, and her face opened into tenderness. Open, aching, maternal tenderness from a girl younger than the woman she was looking at, the look of someone who knew exactly where you were because she'd been there.
Her arm reached over and covered Brittany's wrist, and Brittany's breath hitched.
