Pietro's shoulder jumped at the touch, skiddish, but the touch was comforting, if unfamiliar. His stomach churned and he forced himself to take a slow breath. In and out. In and out. He clung desperately to that small sliver of hope, brow creased and watching his father's face to some proof he was telling the truth. He swallowed and nodded again, face pale. She was out there. They were out there. He'd find them. He would.
"She's not dead. I'd know. I'd know if she was dead."