With one arm, Andrew carefully swept up Victoria. She was surprisingly light to him, but he knew she was dead. Leaning against the bloodied wall, he mourned her. Her life. Their memories. Her unlived future. He cried for some time, noting William’s presence. He was dead, marking the last association with the man with pained grey eyes.
Once outside, Andrew lowered Victoria’s body on the concrete, as he searched for any signs of life. Defeated, he laid his head on her chest. Suddenly, Victoria stirred. Andrew sat up. Her breathing was shallow labored, but rhythmic. He kissed her forehead just as the deep tower bells tolled two… still several hours before dawn.