Moonspear count your fears if you let me

His response was a sucker punch in the gut. Hydra was equally stubborn and hardheaded. But she would take the word of Terance over any (bar family). I wouldn't, she rejoined, and that was the truth. It was his answer that allowed something of a disconnect to be done, and frankly, she was relieved a bit now, too, to know that Terance would do this in knowing everything.

Not that it wasn't heartbreaking in the moment. Oh, she'd be lying if she said she wasn't crushed. Even with the small breadcrumb of relief she was given here and now, it was nothing in comparison to the cut he had delivered. The severing of ties so thickly woven would never be painless. And that was why she had known it would be pointless to say anything at all—to go through all of this. She had not done it for her benefit, because Hydra had known she would be the one hurt, again. But there was a part of her that held onto the hope that maybe he meant it. Maybe he really did care.

But, as she had said, actions spoke louder than words. There was no question that his feelings for Rannoch surpassed those for her. Rannoch had taken from her something very, very dear this day—and she would never forget it.

She was not at all cold or hard or cruel when she said, you better go. They'll be waiting to collect you, I'm sure, Hydra grimaced. Terance, too, had taken something from her—and he could keep it. She was quite tired of feeling. Of caring. It only served to slap her in the face. That, she could forget about; in fact, the sooner the better.

Hydra did love him, when all was said and done, and that was the worst part of it all—the heart-rending betrayal done to her was one she would not recover from.