Psylocke Vol 2 Ch 23: The Time To Say Goodbye, Im Not Alone!

Grace stared down at Tristan, her arms still crossed, her face cold and unreadable.

For a long moment, she didn't say anything.

Then, slowly, her expression softened. The sharpness in her eyes dulled, and the corners of her lips twitched, shifting into something far gentler.

She sighed, crouching down, then carefully pinched Tristan between her fingers and lifted him into her palm.

"How's training going?" she asked, her voice quieter than before.

Tristan sat in her hand, still feeling uneasy. That cold look she'd given him a moment ago still lingered in his mind, making his chest feel tight. But he forced a smile, pushing past the discomfort.

"It's, uh... going well," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, I'm making progress. Slowly but surely."

Grace smiled at that. "I knew you could do it." She lifted a finger and gently stroked his head, ruffling his already sweat-damp hair.

Tristan let out a small chuckle, but the unease in his stomach never faded. Something's wrong.

He looked up at her carefully. Her smile was there, but it felt... off. Too forced. Too deliberate. Like she was trying to act normal but wasn't quite pulling it off.

"...Grace," he said slowly. "Are you okay?"

She didn't answer right away.

Instead, she glanced at Darcy—just a quick look, barely a flicker of movement—but Tristan noticed.

And suddenly, his stomach really started to sink.

Grace looked back down at him. "I'm going away for a few months," she said, her voice calm and steady.

Tristan blinked.

"...What?"

"The UM has a mission for me," she explained. "I can't ignore it. I can't pass it to someone else. I have to go."

Tristan shook his head, his mind scrambling to process what he was hearing.

"That doesn't make any sense," he said, his voice rising. "You're a Bronze Level Two soldier. What kind of mission could you possibly be sent on? Bronze-levels don't even get assigned serious missions! That's for Silvers and Golds, not—"

He stopped.

Because Grace was looking at him again.

And this time, she wasn't just forcing a smile.

She looked like she wanted to say something. Like the words were sitting right there on the tip of her tongue, pressing against her lips, waiting to come out.

But she held them back.

Instead, she exhaled through her nose and shook her head.

"Look," she said. "Don't worry too much about it, alright? It's just a small job. I'll be back before you know it."

Tristan did worry.

Because he knew Grace.

And she never held things back from him like this.

"What's wrong, maggot?"

Tristan flinched at the sudden voice.

He turned his head and saw Breona lounging at the very edge of the table, her feet dangling off the side. She smirked at him, looking far too entertained.

"You gonna miss your big, protective girlfriend?" she teased, raising an eyebrow.

Tristan immediately felt heat rush to his face.

That was exactly the problem.

He didn't want to be left alone in a world full of massive, god-like beings who could end him with the slightest misstep. Having Grace around—even if she couldn't actually do much against a Brob—made him feel safer.

And now she was leaving?

"Shut up," he muttered at Breona, but his voice lacked any bite.

Breona just laughed.

Before he could say anything else, Tristan suddenly felt himself being lifted higher.

He looked up—just in time to see Grace bringing him toward her face.

And then, suddenly, he was engulfed in the warmth of her lips.

Her mouth covered almost his entire body, pressing against him gently yet firmly. He could feel her breath, warm and steady, surrounding him completely.

When she finally pulled back, her fingers still holding him close to her face, she gazed at him with something softer—something almost sad.

"I'll be back soon," she murmured.

Tristan barely had time to say anything before she gently set him back on the table.

Then, without another word, Darcy reached down, plucked Grace up in her hand, and carried her away.

As they disappeared into the next room, Tristan caught one last glimpse of Darcy's face.

And the look she gave him wasn't her usual smirk or teasing expression.

It was something else.

Something worried.

Something pitying.

And then—

They were gone.

Tristan stood there, staring at the empty space where Grace had just been.

His chest felt tight.

"...Grace," he whispered.

And for the first time since coming here—

He felt truly alone.

Tristan sat motionless on the table, his head hanging low, arms resting on his knees. The silence around him felt heavy, like a thick fog settling over his thoughts.

His mind kept replaying the moment Grace had walked away. The forced smile, the look she gave him, the way Darcy's expression had shifted into something almost pitying.

Something wasn't right.

And worst of all—he couldn't do anything about it.

The wooden surface beneath him suddenly began to vibrate.

At first, it was faint, barely noticeable.

Then, it grew stronger.

Tristan's breath caught in his throat as he slowly lifted his head.

Each tremor pulsed through his body like a slow, steady drumbeat. He turned his head just in time to see the massive form of Breona striding toward him, her towering frame casting an overwhelming shadow across the table.

His eyes widened.

"Uh oh..."

Instinctively, he stood up, bracing himself as the tremors from her steps sent small jolts through his legs.

Breona came to a stop in front of him, her enormous figure looming over his tiny form. She let out a long sigh, scratching the back of her head, her usual cocky smirk absent for once.

Then, instead of sitting in front of him, she turned sideways and crossed her legs, looking away as if deliberately avoiding his gaze.

Tristan blinked.

That was... unexpected.

Breona was never the type to be subtle. She was always loud, always teasing, always leaning into her sharp, relentless attitude.

This? This was different.

"You're doing good, kid," she said finally, her voice steady but uncharacteristically calm. "Better than I thought you would, considering your training just started."

Tristan swallowed, unsure of what to say.

Breona exhaled, tapping her fingers against the table. "You don't need Grace to protect you," she continued. "You've got me. And everyone in Psylocke. You get that, right?"

Tristan's head snapped up, his mouth parting slightly in surprise.

He hadn't expected... that.

He stared up at her, blinking a few times, his chest tightening—not in fear, but in something else. Something warmer.

Breona wasn't the type to just hand out reassurances. If she said something, she meant it.

His face grew hot, and without thinking, he looked down, rubbing the back of his neck.

Then, slowly, he sank back down onto the table, pulling his legs up to his chest.

For a moment, he just sat there, breathing in the moment, letting it settle in his bones.

Breona shifted, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her finally glance at him.

"You understand, right?" she asked, her voice softer than usual.

Tristan hesitated—just for a second.

Then, he nodded, tightening his arms around his knees.

"Yes, ma'am."

Breona smirked. "Good."

Tristan exhaled, a small, genuine smile forming on his lips.

He wasn't alone.

Not really.

And for the first time since Grace left, that thought actually gave him a bit of comfort.