(Oh. It's impossible to watch Beverly cry without immediately needing to comfort her; Lucretia rubs her knuckles with her thumbs, biting the insides of her cheeks. Hope wars with dismay inside of her: she hates the idea of Beverly's thoughts having lingered on her for almost a decade, but is happy she had not been forgotten.)

It's okay, (she soothes, after pausing to swallow. Once again, it's hard to talk over the lump in her throat.) It's okay, you– we've always said that if one of us had the chance to go we should take it. I'll never begrudge your leaving, ever. I promise, I–

(Beverly's clutching her so hard it almost hurts. She doesn't care. It's grounding.) I just– a letter? Really? (She smiles, a quick, tight gesture. It doesn't reach her eyes before it disappears again.) I know you only had minutes but I– I can teleport, I could have been with you in seconds.