He doesn't need to be close to see the whites of her eyes—too white, unseeing; he knows she doesn't see him. Something terrible crowds his throat. It's that horror and anxiety that results in the suddenness of his actions. The air rustles with the audible force and the speed of him moving in front of her. It takes hardly the splitting of a second. Up close the truth is no more apparent than it was before.

His lips part, looking down on her. His eyes fill. "Who did this to you?" he asks, and then swallows thickly, realizing himself. He crouches before her. "It's Klaus."