[The green reed which bends in the wind is stronger than the mighty oak which breaks in a storm.

Confucius.

Suhara.

I bend and do not break.

Jean de La Fontaine.

Suhara.

She brings her hand down from her face and uses it to take his, instead. Her fingers are less graceful than usual as she entwines them with his, but her hand is dry and warm.]

I'm not losing you. Not to Johto, not to whatever you saw. And not to yourself.

[She breathes in, lets it out. That which bends, Carmen. The oak is mighty but the green reed survives the storm.

She looks down at their hands, then up to meet his eyes, blinking until the sting recedes.]

Figuring out what to do might be a journey of a thousand miles, detective.

[The reed bows to the storm. But it rises to stand tall again.]