JO DIDN’T KNOW how long she cried, curled up in Snow’s bed like a child. It could have been hours, could have been days, but it didn’t matter. Once the dam had been broken, there was no stopping the tears from flowing even if she tried.

And what use was there in trying?

She had vague recollections of Snow trying to talk to her, of his hand on her back and his lips against her temple, of soft attempts at comfort, reassurances that at least the wish had been granted and they were safe, even softer admittances of understanding. But she could find none of her own sympathies, every verbal grasp of Snow’s falling on deaf and unaccepting ears.

She wasn’t ready to hear any of it, not when it all ended with the same brutal and unforgivable truth.

Nico was gone. Pan had taken him from them, and he wasn’t coming back.

She thought, during one of the times she’d cried herself into a daze, in and out of sleep with her chest aching and eyes sore (sleep was something Jo never wanted to do again), that Snow tried to apologize. But even with anger boiling her blood, and distress gripping tight at her heart, she couldn’t find it in her heart to blame him. Not when he’d looked at her with such shame, seemingly sharing every ounce of their heartache.

No. This wasn’t about forgiving Snow; a pawn needed no forgiving for the whims of his queen. This was about mourning Nico, about maybe one day soon, avenging him.

So it was after an indistinguishable amount of time that Jo sat herself up, leaning into Snow’s touch when he instantly responded to her presence. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been waiting at her side, coming and going to check on her, but she was eternally grateful. Even if she couldn’t find it in herself to say so.

“She did this,” Jo muttered first in blatant repetition, clutching tight to Snow’s arms as he wrapped them around her waist and held her close to his chest. It almost made her want to start crying all over again, but she did her best to hold herself back.

“I know,” he said, whispering the agreement into her neck. Jo swallowed back the whimper of renewed regret that the words threatened to pull from the center of her chest. Instead, she distracted herself with the feel of his forehead pressing firm into the juncture of her shoulder.

Without meaning to, Jo exhaled a shaky, “It’s not fair.” When Snow said nothing in reply, Jo turned herself as best she could into his embrace and hugged him closer. “It’s okay,” she said once she could feel her lips pressed loosely against the shell of his ear. She felt him shiver, heard him choke back the first broken sob of his own. “I know it’s not your fault.”

Snow stiffened in her arms, obviously surprised, but then settled, hugging her like he might fall apart without her body there to keep him together. He stayed silent, but somehow Jo could tell he was grateful; it was clear in the huff of his breaths against her skin and the dig of his fingers into her waist.

Eventually, no matter how much she wanted to ride out the rest of her mourning in his grasp, she couldn’t deny the immense desire she had to get back to her team. It didn’t seem right that she got comfort from their leader when everyone else was forced to handle their grief on their on.

But as much as she wanted to be strong, she was only human.

“Will you come with me?” she heard herself ask, surprised internally at her own forwardness. She did her best to school her expression into something more confident than she felt. The words, however, were more hopeful and real than any she ever remembered speaking. “I don’t know if I can go back out there alone.”

Another brief pause, another quiet breath against her neck, and then—

“Whatever you need.”

It took a while for Jo to work up the courage. Sitting up and voicing her concerns was one thing, but actually pulling herself away from the safety of Snow’s bed was another. Eventually, however, she managed to drag herself back out into the hall, Snow not far behind.

The group was all there once more, making Jo’s mind whirl with just how much time she’d spent grieving. At first, no one seemed to notice her approach, too consumed by whatever it was they were doing. Which was all well and good, considering Jo had no clue what to do or say to them yet. But the closer she got, the quicker she realized she couldn’t stay silent on the matter.

“Wait,” Jo spoke up the moment she was within earshot. Eslar had one hand on Nico’s watch, pulling futily, and Wayne was digging the edge of his nickel beneath it and the shelf. “Wait!”

Everyone turned in her direction, Takako and Samson startling at her sudden presence as Eslar and Wayne backed away from the recreation room shelf on reflex. They couldn’t touch another’s watch; no amount of physical force could remove it from its last spot.

And maybe no force ever should.

“Leave it,” Jo said, pushing her way through the group until she could place a hand on Nico’s watch, looking first at the broken clock face and then at each of them in turn. “Just leave it.”

At first, no one seemed to know how to respond, but eventually, Eslar caved, taking a step towards the shelf. “Jo, we need to—”

“No!” She shouted, cringing at the sound of her own voice, especially when Eslar recoiled at the unexpected volume. She felt her grip on the stationary timepiece tighten, fresh tears threatening to spill as she closed her eyes. How was it possible she had any tears left to cry? “This. . .” She swallowed, willing herself to straighten before she said anything further. It was important; this was something she needed to do. Not just for Nico, but for all of them.

“This is all we have left of him,” she eventually found the strength to say. Some part of her was right back in the graveyard in Florence. That courtyard, seemingly forgotten by all but one. Nico had been its lone mourner for years; now, he needed someone to mourn him. “We can’t just erase that too. We can’t. . . We can’t just—”

Jo choked on the rest of the phrase, trying desperately to swallow the lump in her throat.

“A memorial.” Takako put into words what she was trying to say, the girl walking up to Jo’s side and placing a hand over hers. When Jo looked over at her, hoping her face showed every ounce of gratitude she felt, Takako didn’t smile. She did, however, give Jo’s hand a squeeze. “He deserves that much.”

Jo nodded before pulling her hand away from the shelf. As if sensing her unspoken need, Takako let her fingers slip between Jo’s, to hang intertwined at their sides, offering the strength of her presence. Maybe someday, Takako could teach her how to stand so tall.

Jo clutched at Takako with one hand and the edge of her own hoodie with the other. “If we don’t do our best to remember Nico, then who will?”

Wayne was the first to respond. Not with words but with the silent removal of his nickel from the shelf. He clutched it tight in his palm for a second before pocketing it. After that, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement.

One by one, everyone went into the recreation room, slow and silent, as if walking up to a grave. And it was. The only grave Nico would ever receive. It seemed appropriate that the portrait of Julia lay eternally inside the man’s proverbial tomb.

Until the bitter end and after, they deserved to be together.

It took Snow’s touch, a gentle pressure against her shoulder, for Jo to realize everyone was looking at her. Waiting.

She looked at each member of her team, her family, and offered what she hoped was a look of deep understanding. They were all going to miss Nico; they all recognized that he’d deserved far better. So, with steady steps and steadier hands, Jo walked up to his final painting, a perfect likeness of his Julia, his love. Jo knelt before it and picked up the forgotten paintbrush. Dipping it in an open tube of paint, she drew a small star on the corner of the easel before returning it to its rightful place. And where it would stay.

Jo wanted to tell herself that there was nothing more that they could have done. Perhaps one of them had always been doomed to this fate. But, she was discovering that the actions of so-called “fate” left a bitter aftertaste. It was something she’d never quietly swallow again. She would rip the very notion of destiny to pieces if she must to protect her friends.

Yes, Jo would destroy everything, if that’s what it took to free them from the Society itself.