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Talia did not think it was possible for a room to withstand so much pain and loss. She had heard just about every heartbreaking story before her turn, and each one pulled on her heartstrings more than the last. One woman recalled her pain when she talked about her son who had committed suicide three years ago. A man described his trauma and difficulty coping on the anniversary of his wife's death— who died in a car accident eight months ago. And then there was a girl— who looked like she was no more than a year younger than Talia— who choked through her words when she explained how her sister fell to her death on a mountain climbing trip. She noticed how there was a common denominator in the majority of these stories: they were unexpected deaths. No premonition. No warning of any kind. It all happened on a regular day with everybody carrying out their everyday routines.

"If you are a newcomer," the sponsor said, "or if this is your second or third time here with us, then by all means we give you the floor to share your story."

Talia hesitantly raised her hand after she felt like nobody else was going to. The sponsor acknowledged her. "Talia," she said softly.

"Welcome, Talia," the sponsor said. "Thank you for joining us today. Is there anything you would like to share?"

Talia felt her hands get clammy. She looked left to right, feeling her stomach flip-flop as everyone had their eyes on her, waiting to see if she would share. That is what she came here for, was it not?

"Where should I start?" Talia said, straightening her back. Her sponsor gave her a hand signal to start when she was ready. "So, um, I lost my mother a month ago. Every morning I keep thinking: today I would see my mother before I would go to school. That today, we would hold hands and say the blessing with my father at dinner. That today, we would hug each other before going to bed and sleep knowing we would say hello in the morning. And when it does not happen, my brain tries for another day. Thinking otherwise just feels. . . wrong. There was still so much my mother needed to be a part of— my graduation, the day of my wedding, when my first child is born— and it was taken away in an instant. I just. . . feel so cheated."

A lump rose in Talia's throat. She blinked back the tears that wanted to spill down her cheeks. Her eyes were fixated on the one empty seat across from her. She knew she was definitely hallucinating when she saw her mother sitting in that chair, blood-soaked shirt and all, but there was nothing hallucinating about the momentary feelings of anxiety swirling in her chest. Why did that have to be all she had left to remember her mother by?

"Even visiting the cemetery for the first time made me feel like I had done something wrong." Talia bristled up on her posture. "I could not imagine that grave being her. . . permanent home. It should not be. Not now."

Talia left her story at that. Of course, she left out many significant and intimate details, but what mattered was that everything else was true. The pain was real. The anguish was real. The void that continued to grow in her heart little by little was real. And to be done about it? Nothing except to find the man responsible for her and her father's pain and. Talia had compiled a list since then of questions she prepared to ask The Shredder when she found out. Of course, she wanted to fire all of her questions towards him at once, She had a hard time picking which one she would ask first, but ultimately she chose one:

Do you understand what you took from me?

***

In a space absolved of everything, her mind functioned like a solar system. She was the sun and her thoughts and feelings were the planets that orbited around her. And much like the solar system, they revolved and revolved for an eternity— or at least, that is what it felt like. When she pushed one thought to the side, another resurfaced. When she tried to block out any strong feelings, those feelings just grew stronger. It was a battle she knew there was no point in winning. She recovered from her trance, feeling frustrated. She should have tried harder. Last time's session was not like this.

Across from her, Leonardo was still stuck in his trance. His father was not here to lead this time, but Leonardo was and he offered. She thought his expertise was good enough and he seemed like a comfortable person to be around, so she accepted. There he was, his breathing slow and steady and not a single tensed muscle. She was even fooled for a moment to think he was asleep.

Maybe she should try again. She relaxed back into her posture, took a few deep breaths, and tried to empty everything that stuck to the corners of her brain into the waste basket in the back of her head. Initially, it felt like it was working. She was starting to get to that certain point in her meditative state, but then certain flashbacks returned.

"The one who's a traitor dies. And that rule applies for everyone."

"Your mother was in kahoots with a criminal organization."

"Then why the hell was your mom knowingly and willingly at a drug lord's laboratory? If you ask me, that is the complete opposite of what a person who 'despises' drug lords would do."

"It's such a shame what the police uncovered about Dr. Genesis, though. . . here was everyone thinking what a great influence she was."

"Over twenty years in friendship and that's how much it was worth to her? Paying me off like some kind of servant? I didn't recognize my best friend anymore."

Talia gripped the hem of her skirt. Her eyes shot open again. Not even a minute she lasted. Why could these thoughts not be put to rest and quit agonizing her mind? Perhaps it was true what everyone said: dead men tell no tales. Talia could question 'why' and wail and scream to a cold gravestone all she wanted, but her answer would not change.

She decided not to waste any more of Leonardo's valuable time and let herself out. He would not even notice that she was gone. Going to that grief support meeting certainly invoked some of her stronger feelings. . . Was that why she could not find her center today?

She shook her head and continued walking. When she passed the room Mr. Hamato dedicated his late wife to, she backtraced her steps to take a more closer look inside. She stood right in the doorway, staring straight at the opened wooden cabinet holding Tang Shen's picture. The incense candles blew smoke as if they had been burned recently; the china plates were refilled with new food offerings like fruit and rice. The Hamato family had been dealing with her permanent absence for many years, but now that Talia had suffered through her loss, she did not know how she would 'deal' with it. Could she? Would she? Because if she did, that would be accepting this new situation and she just really did not want to.

"Such a small space, but it holds a huge significance," a voice said behind her.

Talia jumped a little, but she relaxed when she saw it was only Leonardo. "How long were you standing there?" She asked.

"Not long," Leonardo said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"How did you not make a single noise?"

"Like ninjas are supposed to be loud?" Leo had a sliver of a jokingly smile. Talia decided she liked that smile.

"That would defeat the purpose of your training, am I right?"

"Right." Leonardo tilted his body to also stare inside the room. "I suppose you already know what this room is?"

"I-I was not snooping if that is what you are thinking right now—"

"Wait— hold up— I'm not mad. It's just you haven't really moved from that spot."

Talia could not describe it, but Tang Shen's still expression and the photo lighting that cast shadows almost made her feel like Tang Shen's unnatural gaze pierced through her. And Talia could not help but feel a mix of intimidation and awe because she knew there was a time Tang Shen breathed. She smiled. She lived. She once had a time for everything.

"She looks so young," Talia breathed out. Now, Talia did not say that to state the obvious, but rather to convey her surprise that Tang Shen's life had ended so soon— a loss of a future that was never fulfilled. And to Talia, she felt like nothing was more sadder than that.

"I know." There was a speck of sadness and yearning in Leo's voice. He quickly covered it up with a neutral tone. "When Mikey showed you, did he tell you anything?"

From how he asked his question, Talia deduced that Leo was only wondering if Mikey gave her enough background to make him (Leo) feel obligated to share. But if anything was an indicator that it was not Mikey's place to tell, it was the brief summary of Tang Shen's shrine.

"Nothing much. Only that this room is a special dedication to your deceased mother." She then pressed her lips together, deciding maybe she should not further speak. She did not want to come off as invasive.

Leonardo's face looked like he already had it all figured out. "If you want to ask something, then ask. I won't get offended."

Talia rubbed her arm. "I just do not want to make you feel comfortable."

"You don't seem like a person who makes people uncomfortable."

It was just a remark, but that alone made Talia's heart feel at ease. There were enough people throughout the years who had reported to her face that her presence alone made them feel uncomfortable— simply because her family was affluent. She remembered initially thinking how easy it would be to make friends here in the states than in Israel, but she came to find out that the situation remained consistent in that area.

"Just so you know, you can reserve your right to pass any question you do not want to answer."

Leo hummed thoughtfully. "If you say so. What do you want to know?"

Talia did not want to hammer hard on the inquiries, so she started small. "How old were you specifically when she died?"

Leonardo looked away from Talia to stare at the altar again. His expression was almost somber-like. "Eight. Weekend of Fourth of July. It was a great weekend, actually. Fireworks, the cookout, that kind of thing."

"Was she with you and your family?"

"Ah, no. She stayed home. Said she didn't feel well, but she still wanted us to have fun so she said to go without her, despite my dad's protests. He said he wanted the whole family together, but she said it wasn't possible. For that day, at least."

A whole sequence of monstrous seconds passed before Talia then asked, "How did she. . .?" She let the question run off like water.

But Leonardo got the gist of it. He deeply inhaled. "A robbery gone wrong. Wrong place at the wrong time. Perp stabbed her and left her to bleed to death. When I saw the yellow tape and the body bag being rolled out of the house, I still didn't comprehend the situation until my father knelt before my siblings and I and explained it."

"Leo, I. . . that is awful. I'm sorry." She could not think of anything else other than to say that two-word repeated condolence, but she hoped Leonardo understood she actually meant them with care.

This time, he gave her a smile that did not reflect what she saw in his eyes. They reminded her of cold Arctic waters. "Yeah, well, as a kid it's not like you really focus on the explicit traumatic details, so eventually they become a blur. But the feeling is there. Researchers say it has to do with the brain prioritizing strong emotional experiences because it's still developing."

"Researchers? Or Donnie?" Talia said, trying for a little humor.

That earned a light chuckle from Leo. "I read it somewhere online. But anyways, this happened a long time ago. I'm okay now."

A cog turned inside Talia's brain of a machine. She suddenly remembered what Leo told her about the dreams and chasing the meaning of it. "That day after we were done meditating. . . you said you had these nightmares a few years back. Did any of them have to do with. . . her death?"

Leo stiffened a little at the question. His face was that of a brooding dark knight. "No. It was a completely different thing," he said with finality. Talia knew better than to press it.

"Okay. . ." Talia looked for a different question. "So what happened with—"

Then came a new sound— approaching footsteps— to halt Talia's question, causing both her and Leo to face forward to see a familiar presence:

"You two are going to let me pass or do I have to enter a passcode?" Raph demanded. His oversized shirt almost reached his knees.

Thinking that he wanted to enter to pray, Talia stepped aside from the doorway.

"I actually meant to let me pass through the hallway," Raph said deadpanned. "You're kinda blocking it."

"That's an overstatement," Leo said. "You can go around us; you're not built like a hippo."

"Good. The shitty protein shake I had to drink every morning was actually worth it, then."

"If it was 'shitty' then why would you—"

"Do you know what it's like for a soccer team to depend on you to carry to them to victory every single game?"

"I imagine it's a stressful job. But you know you're not the only soccer player, right?"

Raph frowned. "That's because I'm the only one pulling any weight here recently."

"What do you mean you're 'the only one'?"

"It means I'm the only one taking this shit seriously and— argh can you just let me go through?!" Raph was starting to get frustrated.

Leo rolled his eyes. "By all means." Leo did not pass up the opportunity to shove the back of Raph's head. Nevermind that Raph did not greet Talia with a hello or something, but her eye did not miss the two-second moment where Raph glimpsed at his mother's altar and just as quickly looked away before zooming away.

"I think it's safe to tell you that he acts like that with everybody," Leo said.

Talia nodded. "I have noticed. But he has that good side, hmm?"

Leo shrugged. "Depends. He's. . ." Leo struggled to come up with a word. ". . . complicated."

The memory of Raph acting skittish on the rooftop of Irina's brownstone fleeted through her brain. Complicated was one way to describe him. "I see," she murmured.

The conversation fell silent after that. In reality, Talia kind of wanted to keep the conversation going, but she thought it was perhaps better to let things end on a note here. She did not want Leo to think she was overstaying her welcome.

"I should go now," Talia decided. "But thank you for the session. I know I did not focus as much as I should have, but next time I will try my best."

"It's no problem," Leo said. His eyes then turned soft with slight concern. "You having more nightmares?"

"No, no! At least for now. Recently, my dreams are more like. . . windows into my past." She was about to tell him also about how Dreamweaver kept frequently appearing in her dreams, but then became hesitant. It was nothing but a flower. It did not mean anything.

". . . Did the nightlights help?" Leo asked, sounding a little hopeful. He was looking sideways.

"I used the stars. I never thought I would fall asleep so fast by just being mesmerized staring at them. At least I do not have to look outside to see the stars when they are on my ceiling."

Watching the small smile form on Leo's face made Talia feel glad she said that. "You can't see the stars here in New York City. I hear the best place is in Alaska."

Talia gaped at him. "All the way over there?"

"Or maybe Canada. I don't know, I just want to see see them in an area where there isn't a lot of light pollution. And I feel like it would be nice to get out of the city for a while."

"That sounds ideal to me. What are you waiting for?"

Leo went very still and silent. He furrowed his brows, like he did not know the answer. He thought about it for a few sequential seconds before settling with, "Good question."