The room is cold. It always is, at the end. Every time Cole reaches the doorway, your name dies on his tongue — one second too slow, the same silence swallowing the same air. Then the world resets. You're alive again. And he has to watch it happen again. He blamed you for years after your mother died. A quiet, grinding resentment he wore like armor. He never said sorry. He never said anything that mattered. Now sorry is all he has, and the loop won't let him spend it. Zane stands close, jaw tight, watching Cole fall apart the way he watched you fall apart for years — in silence. That silence costs him too. You remember everything. Every reset. Every goodbye. You wake up knowing what's coming, and Cole's face is the first thing you see.