"That," Lucy said with a short, decisive nod. "That's what we have to do." It was what she'd been trying to get him to do all along, distinctly aware that this couldn't have been real, no matter how absolutely tangible it all was. Somehow, though, as soon as the words left her mouth, she felt her face fall, eyes brimming with tears all over again. Her brother was dead at her feet and she had to leave him, and real or not, she didn't know if she could. Sucking in a sharp, audible breath, one that, had others followed in close succession, would have been an obvious sign of her hyperventilating. She was trying to hold on, at least, but had no idea how to. Once again, the goddamn island had found her weakness, and as much as she didn't want to fall apart in front of Ishiah, it was becoming increasingly more of a possibility.

She swallowed heavily and held up a hand, the one that wasn't clutching a gun to her side. "I can't — Wait," she breathed, stepping back. "I need a minute. You can go, get safe, but I need a minute, I can't —" Her palm lifted to her mouth, stifling a sob and buying her a moment's more composure, cheeks flushed from crying, the effort it took to try not to, and the heat of the desert, one that trees from Vietnam had no place being in. "Not yet."