It's clear, even without looking through her powers, every change in his appearance all but screaming how much of him has been lost, how much time has slipped through their hands. Maybe she doesn't need to look, but she trusts in the familiar world her powers show her, in the flood of colour and light it creates.

For all the times she's seemed to bite back all emotions, all the times she's kept an inscrutable expression and remained unaffected, even Kate can't hide her gasp, the sharp inhale of breath which whistles through her teeth when she stares at him.

Every time she's stared at Carlisle, that seeping injury has been there, dark and strange and so blatant that it angers her. She saw it, all that time ago, but it was so easily dismissed in the moment. Written off as unimportant, or something that's simply unique to his world and his powers. Something she didn't need to ask about when they had so much work to do.

God, what a fool she was.

It's barely the space of a few seconds, enough to look over once, and then she's dissolved the light in her eyes, returned to staring at something that's just as achingly wrong, and she flexes her fingers thoughtlessly, the slow movements a comfort. Words seem to fail her — they have to do something, but she's said as much, and there's nothing that's coming to mind. The energies she could control, stem and even out, probably won't do a lot.

Wait.

There is one thing.

"Glacius— he know?" She'd guess so, but he's away, who knows how far across the planet right now.