She was too young for this. She was twenty-six. She was too smart, too beautiful, too innocent, too lovely. She did not deserve this. And he could hardly watch.

"Skoochy, why don't you just go?" She said stiffly, looking up from her book.

"Jin, I'm not going to leave you like this."

She shut the book and slammed it onto the table. "Like what?" She shot him a cold-blooded stare.

"Like you're fine! Like nothing's happened! Spirits, you're acting like you're so strong but you're just running away from how you feel."

"I'm not running away from anything," she replied stonily, nostrils flaring. "What happened was natural."

"Oh, so you're not upset?"

"I'm not little like you were! I understand! It was for a reason. It was for good. It makes sense. But there's no sense in crying."

"Jinora, why are you doing this to yourself? It's okay to be sad! It's okay to be scared!"

"There's nothing to be scared of!" she shouted. Her tone was loud and assertive and fierce. It was also unbearable.

"Jinora, you're scaring me," Skoochy admitted quietly.

She turned her back to him and went to the window. She slid open the panes and let the wind wash her face.

"You don't have to not care," Skoochy said. "I know what it's like to lose a dad, too."