It can't be her. It can't be. She not the same age, she doesn't even recognize him (and he doesn't know whether or that's a relief). All the hope for the impossible, the anger, the grief, rain so soaked in that's part of him. It's impossible.

And before she can see too much, the mask creeps over his face, power working by instinct. It's a merciful shield.

"I'm not messing, but someone is," He said, voice more distorted like this, harder to read. "But if you don't know then that's that. I'll figure it out."