Was, she thinks, bitterly. She doesn't say it, though.

"He-"

She pauses. What would she even say?

Her initial response is to be snappish, dismissive. 'It doesn't matter.' It wouldn't work, of course. Not when he'd seen... all of that. 'Just another victim,' maybe. Flippant, mocking. But right now, she didn't have the effort, the energy, for that sort of game-playing evasion. 'A useful ally.' 'Nobody important.' He had seen her try to reach for him. Humiliating, pathetic display of-

"... he was... a friend."

Too good for her, certainly. Innocent, forgiving, endlessly filled with joy and love for everybody around him. Everything she could never-

"He's gone."

Her voice trembles when she says it. Weak. Emotional. She hates it. She hates it so much.