There's a soft gasp from Arthur's throat, an aborted noise of sympathy.

He can certainly guess the rest.

The hand on Hanna's back shifts, slow and predictable to reach his other shoulder, the other resting loose on Hanna's calf, and Arthur pulls him in for a tight side hug.

"I'm so sorry, Hanna." And there is grief in his voice, real and weighty and threatening to crack his calm demeanor.