*Trigger warnings* verbal abuse (degrading) swearing, violence, mass casualties, nightmares, mentions of non con, pistol whip, blackmail,
The morning light spilled in slow, honey-colored stripes across her sheets. Dust floated through it like something sacred. I laid there a minute, half-awake, half-stuck in the storm of everything that had happened the night before.
Her leg was still draped over mine.
Her breath was soft and even, and her brow—so often drawn with tension—was relaxed in a way I hadn't seen in weeks. Her lips were parted just slightly, and strands of hair were stuck to her cheek from sweat that hadn't dried right. She looked… peaceful. Raw, and real, and wrecked in the way that only meant she'd finally gotten to rest.
God, she needed it.
And maybe I needed to see her like this. Just this once. Unarmored. Still.
I didn't move at first. I was afraid to. Afraid of waking her. Afraid of facing her. Afraid she'd look at me and realize I'd crossed a line—even if she'd begged me to, even if I'd only done what she asked.
What she needed.
At least, I thought that's what it was.
My chest still ached from how tightly she'd held me. My throat was sore from all the things I hadn't said. My hands... well, they remembered everything, and that might've been the worst part.
She shifted slightly against me, her fingers curling into my side like her body hadn't registered that the night was over. But she didn't wake.
I ran a hand gently over her arm, checking her pulse without even thinking. Still steady. Still strong.
But her body was in full recovery mode—coming down from whatever chemical hell that aphrodisiac put her through, on top of the storm we unleashed ourselves. I'd be lying if I said it didn't show. There were faded bruises already blooming across her hip and along her ribcage. Ones I hadn't seen last night. Ones I hated myself for even though I knew she welcomed every one of them.
I swallowed down the knot in my throat.
Quietly, carefully, I eased myself out from under her. Her fingers twitched when I left, like they were searching for something, but she stayed asleep. I tucked the blanket back around her shoulders and stood there, staring at her longer than I probably should've.
I didn't know what to say.
So I said nothing.
Instead, I pulled on the nearest clothes I could find—half of which were hers, honestly—and slipped out of the room with one quiet promise anchoring me:
I'd make it up to her.
The mess hall was quiet. Too quiet for this place, honestly.
Only a few people were scattered between tables—night shift stragglers and the half-dead early risers. A radio hummed somewhere from the back kitchen, low and fuzzy, barely covering the sound of sizzling oil and the soft clatter of dishes being washed.
I moved on autopilot, grabbing a tray and loading it with whatever would keep her blood sugar up—fruit, protein, something with carbs, extra water. She was going to be sore. Drained. I didn't want her to lift a damn finger today.
I was halfway through stealing an extra muffin when I felt it.
The click.
Cold and metal.
Pressed low against the small of my back.
I froze.
Not from fear.
From fury.
A breath ghosted past my ear. Smooth. Icy.
"It's time for a walk, lover boy."
Tallis.
Of course it was Tallis.
I didn't move, but my jaw clenched tight enough I thought I might grind my teeth to dust. My fingers flexed once around the muffin before I slowly set it down. He didn't need to say another word. I felt the smile in his voice. Felt the way he was enjoying this already.
"Let's not do this here," I muttered low, scanning the room out of the corner of my eye. No one seemed to notice. Of course they didn't. To them, I was just another guy grabbing breakfast.
He pressed the barrel in harder, herding me forward.
"Oh, we're doing exactly this here," he said softly. "Unless you want me to make a scene. I could call out to your little friend at the front. Or maybe whisper something sweet to that redhead at the sink. You'd be surprised how quick people scatter when a gun's involved."
My pulse spiked. Not from the threat. From the name he didn't say.
He hadn't mentioned Ardere.
He didn't know.
Or maybe he did. Maybe that was why he was here.
I felt my stomach twist as I stepped forward, guiding us through the side exit of the mess hall and into the back corridor—less foot traffic, no cameras. I knew the layout. He probably did too.
"Where are we going?" I asked, voice steady, but I could feel my shoulder blades coiled like springs. Ready to move.
Tallis gave a small chuckle behind me. "Relax, Dorian. Just two friends catching up. Maybe chatting about how good you are at sharing."
He let the last word linger. Let it drip.
I didn't flinch.
I didn't let myself.
We turned the corner. I recognized the hallway immediately. My gut sank.
Tallis was pushing me back toward her cabin.
No.
Absolutely not.
I slowed my pace. Subtle. Measured. Then tried to edge us toward the hallway that veered left—toward the hangar, the armory, literally anywhere else.
But Tallis wasn't subtle.
He dug the barrel in harder, right against the notch of my spine.
"Mm-mm. Don't be difficult."
I didn't stop walking, but my voice came quiet and flat. "You don't want to do this here."
"No," he agreed easily, like we were discussing the weather. "But I do want her to see you when it happens. Bet she's still sleeping, yeah? Worn out from your big, passionate night?"
A pause. His breath hit the back of my neck like venom.
"Imagine her face when she wakes up to the sound of your skull splitting open against the glass."
I stopped.
Dead in my tracks.
The tray of food was still in my hands. Eggs, fruit, toast. Everything I picked out to take care of her. Keep her from hurting any more than she already was.
And now he wanted to use it as her last breakfast—with my blood as the note on the side.
I turned my head slightly, just enough for him to see my profile. "You touch her window, Tallis, and I swear to God—"
"You'll what?" he interrupted, almost delighted. "Hit me with your little tray? You think I'm scared of you, Dorian?"
"No," I said simply. "I think you're desperate."
That wiped the smirk off his voice for a second.
He didn't like that word.
Because it was true.
He was flailing. And somewhere deep down, he knew it. Knew he'd already lost more than he was willing to admit. And now he was dragging me down with him.
We reached her door.
I stopped. The tray in my hands was trembling, eggs sliding sideways on the plate.
Tallis leaned close again, the barrel of his gun poking right between two ribs.
"Open it."
I shook my head, barely. "She's still asleep. Don't."
He said nothing for a second.
Then I heard the quiet sound of a safety being clicked off.
"You think this is a democracy, Dorian?"
I looked down at the tray in my hands. And then I opened the door.
The cabin was still dark, blinds drawn. Soft sheets tangled around her bare legs. Her chest rose and fell slowly beneath the blanket.
She hadn't stirred.
She looked peaceful.
She wouldn't stay that way.
I barely stepped inside when Tallis shoved me hard from behind, forcing me to stumble forward. The tray clattered to the floor, a loud crash that startled her in the bed.
Her eyes fluttered—slow, hazy. She blinked sleep from them and looked up, confused.
"Dorian…?"
Then she saw Tallis.
He didn't wait.
He crossed the room fast and ripped the blanket off her with one hand, the other pressing the cold metal of his gun flat against her sternum.
"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty."
She froze.
Her pupils dilated in a second, breath vanishing from her lungs as her entire body tensed beneath him.
"You and lover boy had quite the night, huh?" Tallis sneered, eyes raking over her, not even bothering to look away. "Shame it's gonna end like this."
Ardere didn't scream.
Didn't cry.
But her hand instinctively reached for mine. Not for protection. For focus. To tether herself to something real in this nightmare.
"Get your fucking gun off her," I growled, taking a step forward.
Tallis didn't even glance at me.
"I will paint this entire room red before I let you talk to me like that again."
I froze.
His hand shifted on the weapon. His finger curled tighter around the trigger.
And Ardere?
She was still beneath him. Still trying not to breathe too loudly. Still trying to control the trembling in her body.
But her eyes never left mine.
Neither of us blinked.
Because we both knew one wrong move—
And she wouldn't make it out of this bed.
"Get. Up." Tallis cocked his head, the gun still pressed to Ardere's chest as he gave her a slow, mocking smile.
Her fingers clenched in the sheets. Her body hadn't moved yet—frozen in the aftermath of sleep, confusion, and the sudden terror that had crawled into bed with her.
I stepped forward again.
"She's not going anywhere with you."
Without taking his eyes off her, Tallis shifted the barrel and aimed the gun at my leg.
"Keep trying me, lover boy. I've got enough rounds for both of you."
Ardere still hadn't moved.
And that was a problem.
Tallis lowered the gun slightly—still pointed at her—but now gesturing toward the floor where her shirt and pants from last night had been kicked aside in the dark.
"Don't make me repeat myself again. Clothes on. Now."
She reached slowly, fingers inching toward her pants. Her movements were hesitant, mechanical.
That hesitation made him snap.
"God, you're pathetic," he spat, his voice razor sharp. "You're naked under those sheets, and you still think modesty is your biggest threat right now? Please. I've seen weapons with more spine than you."
Ardere flinched.
He noticed.
"What, did you think Dorian was gonna throw himself in front of the bullet for you?" he jeered. "He already let me in the front door. Trust me—he's not your knight in shining anything."
She moved then.
Swift but silent.
Pulled on her pants, yanked the shirt over her head, all while Tallis waved the gun like a conductor, ready to fire if she so much as exhaled wrong.
She didn't cry.
Didn't beg.
But her hands were shaking as she buttoned her pants. Her eyes refused to rise.
I felt useless—standing there like a goddamn statue, heart pounding, trying not to throw myself at Tallis and get us both killed. I had no weapon. No backup. No idea what the hell he wanted, but it wasn't going to end well.
Tallis leaned in close to her as she finished dressing, whispering the next words like poison directly into her ear.
"There she is. Little killer in training. Now don't disappoint me, sweetheart. We've got a big day ahead."
He looked back at me and grinned.
"You're coming too. Wouldn't want you missing the fun."
Then he motioned us both to the door with the barrel of the gun, like this was some kind of sick field trip.
The morning was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl because you know something ugly is coming to shatter it.
Tallis marched us into the woods behind the cabins, his gun still trained loosely on Ardere's back, finger never straying far from the trigger. I stayed close behind, watching every twitch of his shoulder, every shift in his posture. Looking for an opening. There wasn't one yet.
The trees swallowed us quickly, thick with fog and early sun. No witnesses out here. No one to stop this.
Ardere's voice broke the silence first. Calm. Controlled. But I heard the edge of fear behind it, masked with something softer.
"You don't have to do this, Tallis," she said, not looking at him. "You're not like them. You never were."
He chuckled. A dry, humorless sound.
"You don't know me like you think you do, sweetheart."
She kept going anyway. Even though I could see the slight tremble in her fingers, she tried to reach him.
"I know enough. I know what you did to protect me once. Back when everything went to hell in Haven. You chose me. You remember that? Or is this new version of you just pretending none of that happened?"
Tallis stopped walking.
So did we.
He tilted his head. Looked at her.
And for a second, I thought maybe—just maybe—something cracked in him.
Then his expression hardened.
And the butt of the pistol came down.
Crack.
Ardere staggered back with a sharp cry, hand flying to her cheek as blood started dripping between her fingers.
I stepped forward instinctively.
"Tallis—"
"Stay back!" he snarled, gun swinging to me so fast it might've broken the air. His jaw clenched tight as he turned back to her. "You don't get to use that voice. That memory. You think I'm that guy? That boy who thought you were worth saving?"
He stepped closer, towering now.
"You used to look at me like I was a weapon. Now you're trying to look at me like I'm a man. Don't insult me."
Ardere didn't speak again.
She wiped the blood from her cheek and just kept walking when he barked the next order. Stiff. Silent.
The deeper we went into the woods, the more the light faded, swallowed up by the thick canopy and the damp breath of the morning fog. But Tallis filled the space with something worse—his voice.
Not to Ardere.
To me.
Like she wasn't even there.
"You know," he started casually, almost conversational, like he was just chewing fat with an old friend, "back when she was mine… she used to get all shaky when I pulled a gun on her."
He smiled faintly, not at me, but at the memory playing behind his eyes.
"Not scared. Not really. No, it was thrill. The kind that makes your pulse pound in your throat and your legs go weak."
I glanced toward Ardere. Her eyes were locked ahead, shoulders rigid. But the flush of humiliation was crawling up her neck. She didn't say a word. Didn't give him the satisfaction.
But Tallis didn't need her to.
"There was this time," he continued, louder now, making sure I caught every word, "she broke into the weapons locker—just to see if I'd come after her. And when I did, gun first like always, she backed into a corner like she hated it—"
He let out a low whistle.
"But the way she looked at me? Fuck. She loved it. Couldn't help herself."
"Shut up," I muttered, low, teeth clenched.
He ignored me.
"She'd try to act tough about it. All wide eyes and breathy defiance. But the second the barrel touched her—"
"I said shut up."
He didn't.
"Tell me, Ardere," he called ahead, voice cutting through the mist like a whip, "you still get wet when a gun's pointed at you? Or did you save that trick just for me?"
She stopped.
Dead in her tracks.
But she didn't turn around.
She just stood there, fists clenched, jaw tight, her whole body vibrating with restrained rage and humiliation. She was shaking—but it wasn't thrill.
It was hate.
Burning, silent, murderous hate.
"You always were a special kind of broken," he said softer now, stepping up behind her, so close his breath brushed the shell of her ear. "Bet you still are."
I moved to close the space between them, but Tallis raised the gun again without looking back at me.
"Not yet," he warned.
"We're almost there."
And then he shoved her forward.
Tallis stopped when we reached the clearing. It was the kind of place you might've thought looked peaceful—open sky, patches of sun breaking through the trees—but it was the kind of quiet that felt rigged. Like the whole forest was holding its breath.
"Here's good," he said cheerfully, turning on his heel. "Drop your bags. Let's get to the real reason we're all out here, huh?"
He spun the gun in his palm and pointed it lazily at me.
"Start talking, Dorian."
I swallowed.
"What?"
"Tell her. Everything. About how you tricked her into crawling back to you after she finally got free. About the little magic trick Riven helped you pull."
Ardere turned toward me. There was blood dried on her chin, from the split in her lip, and a smear of dirt across her cheek from when she'd stumbled earlier—but none of it looked worse than the betrayal already creeping into her eyes.
"You don't want me to say it," Tallis warned, clicking the hammer back. "So use your voice while you still have teeth."
I didn't want to look at her. I really didn't.
But I did.
And I started to talk.
"Riven… his manipulative impulses. Neural rerouting—he calls it. He can make someone feel something. Want something. Even if they wouldn't otherwise."
Ardere didn't say anything. Her arms stayed wrapped tight around herself.
"After you stopped talking to me… after everything went to hell... I asked him to put something in your head."
She blinked, once. Slow.
"What kind of something?"
My breath caught. My throat tried to close.
Tallis stepped in to help.
"The kind that makes your heart stutter every time he walks into a room. The kind that makes you miss him, ache for him, even when every sane part of you knows you shouldn't. You think that pull toward him was real?" He laughed. "That was your brain being rewired like a puppet string."
Ardere's lips parted like she wanted to speak, but nothing came out.
"I didn't mean to do it like that," I said quickly, desperately. "I didn't—It was wrong, but I didn't realize how wrong until—"
"Save it," Tallis snapped. Then he turned to her. "You know what the best part is, sweetheart?"
She didn't look at him.
"He watched you fall all over him again. While knowing it wasn't real. While knowing it was planted. And he let it happen. Let you give him everything."
He reached forward and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"Must've felt good to be wanted again, huh? After everything. Even if it was fake. Even if it was borrowed."
I took a step forward, but the gun was back on me in an instant.
"Ah ah. Don't be rude. You had your turn. Now I get mine."
He let go of her chin and moved behind her, yanking back her coat roughly and tossing it to the ground. She staggered, arms instinctively moving to cover herself. He laughed.
"Still flinching like I'm gonna do something worse. Don't worry, Red—I'm not here to fuck you."
"That would require someone wanting to touch you," he added, venom curling in every syllable.
She didn't cry.
I don't know how the hell she didn't.
"I hate you," I whispered to Tallis.
"Good," he grinned. "Then we're finally even."
He shoved Ardere down to her knees with the barrel of the gun.
"Get comfortable," he said. "We're just getting started."
She didn't make a sound when she hit the ground.
Her knees sunk into the damp earth, and she stared straight ahead like she was somewhere else. Not here. Not with me. Not under him.
I should've thrown myself at him. I should've let the bullet come. At least then she wouldn't—
"You think this is about you?" Tallis asked me, walking a slow circle around her. "You think I give a shit that you stole her? You didn't steal anything. She gave herself to you. She chose you."
He crouched beside her, close enough to whisper.
"And that's what I'm punishing her for."
She didn't move. She didn't blink.
"All I ever did was try to protect you," he murmured to her. "And you repaid me by crawling into his bed like some stray bitch."
I flinched.
She still didn't look at me.
"Do you want to know what I remember?" Tallis said softly. "The first time I saw you come back after being with him. You had bruises on your collarbone. Bite marks. You looked wrecked. Like someone had finally seen the monster inside you and still wanted to fuck it."
He tilted his head, studying her like something in a display case.
"And all I could think was: why him? Why not the person who would've burned the world down to keep you safe?"
She clenched her jaw.
"Because he doesn't want to protect me," she said quietly. "He wants to own me."
Tallis grinned.
"Now you're getting it."
He stood abruptly, grabbed a handful of her hair, and yanked her back to her feet. She cried out, stumbling, trying to regain her balance. He didn't let go.
"Look at him," he ordered, jerking her head toward me.
She didn't want to.
God, I could see it—every ounce of her trying to stay anywhere but here, locked somewhere deep inside herself—but she looked.
And when she did, something inside me shattered.
"Tell him," Tallis hissed in her ear. "Tell him you regret every second you ever spent with him."
She didn't.
Of course she didn't.
So Tallis did what monsters do.
He slapped her. Not across the face—no, he went for the ribs, low and sharp, the way a professional knows will make it hard to breathe. She doubled over, wheezing, knees buckling again. He let her fall.
I lunged, and he fired.
The bullet hit the dirt a foot in front of me.
"Next one goes through her leg," he warned.
I froze.
He knelt beside her again, grabbing her jaw with one hand, forcing her face up.
"Say it."
Blood mixed with spit on her lip. But her eyes—God, her eyes still burned.
"Fuck you," she rasped.
Tallis laughed.
"No, sweetheart. That was the deal you made with him."
He looked over at me then, like I was a bug pinned to glass.
"What's it like, Dorian?" he asked mockingly. "Watching the girl you broke get broken again. I wonder if you even know where your damage ends and hers begins."
I couldn't answer.
There was no air in my lungs.
No words in my throat.
Only the look on her face—the betrayal, the fury, the devastation—and the sound of my own heart breaking beneath the weight of what I'd done.
And still, Tallis wasn't done.
"On your knees, Ardere."
She didn't move.
The gun cocked again.
"Now."
She looked at me one more time, and this time, I knew—if she knelt now, if she obeyed him again, she wouldn't come back from it.
Not all of her.
Maybe not any of her.
"You can go fuck yourself with that gun, Tallis."
I didn't even feel the pain until I hit the ground.
It was my shoulder, maybe. Or my side. Something hot and wrong pulsed under my skin and radiated outward, and my whole arm was useless, trembling. The trees above me blurred. My ears rang. But I still saw him—Tallis. Standing tall. Smirking. Like this was the moment he'd been building toward since the day we left him behind.
He turned to Ardere.
And I knew. I knew what was coming before his fingers even twitched.
"No," I choked out, dragging myself upright, pain lighting up my back like firecrackers. "Don't touch her. You want revenge? You already got it. Just—don't."
Tallis didn't even glance at me. He reached for her like she was nothing. Just a broken toy he still wanted to watch burn. Ardere, face bloodied, trembling, still hadn't moved. She was frozen. Not out of weakness—out of calculation. Her eyes flicked to me like a warning, like a promise: don't make it worse.
And still, he grinned. "Funny, Dorian," Tallis said, voice low, casual. "I always figured you'd die protecting her. I just didn't think it'd be this pathetic."
He raised the gun.
A heartbeat stretched.
I tried to get to my feet. Tried to throw myself between them even though I knew I wouldn't make it in time.
And then—
Bang.
Tallis jerked like someone had yanked a wire in his spine.
For a second, none of us moved.
Then the blood started.
Not Ardere's. Not mine.
Tallis.
He staggered, confusion flickering across his face as his gaze snapped toward the trees behind us. He lifted a hand to the side of his neck where the bullet had grazed him, and when it came away red, the snarl that followed was animal.
Another shot rang out—closer this time.
Tallis ducked and cursed, stumbling backwards, gun swinging wildly.
"Move!" I screamed, throwing myself at Ardere with what little strength I had. We hit the ground hard, just as a third shot cracked through the air and buried itself into the tree where her head had been.
Tallis was running now. Not toward us. Away. Back into the forest.
Whoever fired was aiming to kill.
But they'd stopped him.
They'd saved her.
Ardere was shaking beneath me. Not crying. Not panicking. Just shaking like her body didn't know what to do now that it wasn't under a gun.
I reached for her, my own hands stained red. "Hey. Hey, look at me."
Her eyes met mine.
We were both still here.
But not untouched.
Never untouched.
****
By the time we stumbled into view of The Grove, the sky was already bleeding.
Smoke coiled up through the trees, thick and oily, turning the last rays of sun into something choking and red. My first thought was that we were too late. My second was that we'd brought this with us.
"Dorian…" Ardere's voice was barely audible over the distant gunfire. But I heard the catch in it. The disbelief. The dread.
I pulled her behind the brush, both of us crouched low, and peered down the slope at what used to be home.
It wasn't a home anymore.
Buildings were on fire. Not just one or two—all of them. The mess hall, the barracks, the armory. Flames licked the rooflines like they'd been starved. Shouts echoed from all directions—some human, some not. I couldn't tell if the people running through the trees were fighting or fleeing.
I couldn't see Riven. I couldn't see Lysander. Or anyone familiar.
But I saw the uniforms.
Not Grove uniforms.
Them.
Whoever had fired that shot back in the woods, it wasn't a rescue. It was a warning. A signal. They hadn't been trying to help us. They'd been hunting us.
And they followed the trail we left behind—right to The Grove.
Ardere's hand gripped my wrist, blood crusted across her knuckles. "We have to go in. We have to help them."
"They'll kill you." I didn't mean it as an argument. Just a truth. But Ardere was already moving, already rising.
"I'm not leaving them," she said, voice cracking. "Not again."
Another explosion rocked the ground, close enough that heat rolled over us and set my teeth on edge. Somewhere deep in the trees, someone screamed a name that got cut off halfway through.
Smoke clawed at our lungs as we tore through what used to be the training yard. Debris scattered the ground—splintered wood, shattered glass, a half-burned flag still clinging to its pole. The sky above us howled red and black, and Ardere kept going.
She didn't hesitate. Not even when another shot cracked behind us.
"Lysander!" she shouted, voice hoarse.
No answer. Just chaos. Another building caved in, sending ash spiraling into the air. I reached for her, but she shrugged me off, sprinting toward the mess hall—what was left of it.
"He's here," she said, mostly to herself. "He has to be here."
We rounded the corner and almost ran straight into a fight. Two Grove guards trying to hold back something that used to be a man, limbs too long, mouth twisted sideways. One guard went down. Ardere didn't even blink. She slipped past the brawl like a shadow, ducking low and fast. All her injuries forgotten. All her pain buried.
Only one thought left in her head: Find him.
She shouted his name again, louder this time. "LYSANDER!"
Still no answer. My heart was slamming against my ribs, and not just from the running.
And then—
Through the haze of smoke and screaming, a figure appeared ahead of us, barreling toward the wreckage from the north perimeter.
"Ardere!" the voice cracked like thunder.
Lysander.
Ardere's breath caught—and for a moment, I swear she stopped breathing altogether.
"LYSANDER!"
She ran toward him, and he didn't slow down.
They collided hard, almost knocking each other over, but neither let go. Lysander wrapped his arms around her like he was afraid she'd disappear, and she clung to him like he was the only solid thing left in a world that was burning.
They didn't cry. There wasn't time for that. But something in both of them cracked open anyway.
Then Lysander looked up at me.
And for the first time, we weren't enemies.
"We've got to get out of here," he said. "They're tearing through the east wing. Looking for someone."
"They're looking for her," I said.
He didn't ask why. He just nodded grimly.
Lysander gripped Ardere's shoulders, breathing hard. "Ms. Marvos, Araxie, and Riven are holed up in the catacombs beneath the west building. We have to go. Now."
"I'm not leaving all these people," Ardere snapped, jerking her head toward the firelit chaos. "Tallis will only save the ones he needs. The rest—he'll leave them to die."
"Ardere—"
"No!" Her voice shook with fury. "You saw what they brought. You saw what they did. If we run now, we're giving them everything. I can still help—"
"We don't have time for this," Lysander said, grabbing her arm. "They brought a suppressor. We need to get underground before it goes off."
I blinked, heart stumbling. "A what?"
But he didn't get an answer.
Not before the air shifted.
Not before it hit.
I didn't hear it. That's the part that screws with my head the most.
One second, I was asking what a suppressor even was, and the next—
The world collapsed.
Not with fire. Not with bullets. Just… silence. For me, anyway.
For everyone else?
Ardere dropped to the ground like she'd been shot. Her hands slammed over her ears, her mouth open in a scream I couldn't hear. Blood spilled from her nose, her ears, her lips. Her whole body shook like she was being electrocuted from the inside out.
Lysander fell next. One knee, then both. He clawed at his temples like he was trying to dig the sound out. Blood slicked his chin. His eyes rolled back, just for a second, before he forced them open and locked on Ardere.
People were collapsing all around us—some crumpled like dolls, others convulsing on the dirt and ash. No gunfire. No sirens. Just the terrible, awful silence of power unraveling.
I couldn't hear it.
But I could feel it.
A pressure, like something had been yanked loose in the air. Like gravity itself was holding its breath.
"ARDERE!" I dropped to my knees beside her, grabbing her shoulders. "I'm here—I've got you—I've got you—"
She didn't respond. She was sobbing, maybe. Or screaming. I couldn't tell.
Her hands were still plastered to the sides of her head, nails digging in so hard she'd broken skin. Blood streaked down her wrists. Her body jerked with every breath.
Make it stop. That's what her eyes said.
I didn't know how.
Lysander was trying to crawl toward us, face pale and smeared in red. He opened his mouth—nothing came out but a raw, gurgled sound and more blood.
"Tell me how to stop it!" I grabbed his shirt and shook him. "LYSANDER!"
He just stared at me, shaking his head with this broken, miserable look like he was begging me to do something—anything. But I wasn't the one with powers. I wasn't the one bleeding from every hole in my face.
I was just the one still standing.
The one untouched by whatever this was.
The sound didn't come back gradually.
One second it was gone, the next it slammed into my ears like a wave crashing into concrete—shouts, gunfire, screaming, the distant roar of buildings collapsing. But worse was the sound coming from Ardere. A wet, guttural choking as she curled forward, coughing thick strings of blood into her trembling hands.
Lysander was doubled over beside her, face slick with red, coughing so hard I thought he might pass out again.
I crouched between them, hands shaking as I tried to pull them up. "We have to move—come on—Lysander, tell me where—"
He gasped, voice hoarse and shredded. "They're… recharging it… thirty seconds… maybe forty… then again."
The suppressor. They were going to hit them again.
Ardere was barely breathing now. Her lips were stained crimson, her skin the color of paper. Lysander wasn't much better, swaying like a tree in a hurricane, but he pointed ahead. "North path—old roots—red moss—get her out—"
I hooked Ardere under her arms and dragged. My legs burned. My back screamed. I didn't care.
Her blood soaked into my shirt. Her body jolted every few feet like she might lose consciousness, or worse. But she kept whispering something, breathless and slurred.
"Tallis… Dorian, stop…"
"No," I growled. "We're getting you the hell out—"
"Please."
Her voice cracked like glass, so small and raw I almost didn't believe it came from her.
"Look," she wheezed. "Please, look."
I turned.
Down the ravine, half-obscured by flame and smoke, Tallis was fighting—failing.
He wasn't screaming, of course not. Tallis didn't scream. But he was bleeding, barely standing, trying to fend off two of them at once with nothing but a knife and the last of his strength. They were faster. Better armed. They weren't going to stop.
And for a split second, I saw something in Ardere's eyes I wasn't ready for.
Fear.
Not for herself.
For him.
She pushed against my grip, tried to stand, failed. "I can't just let them—he protected me—Dorian—he tried—"
"He hurt you."
She didn't deny it.
But her eyes said everything.
I looked between her and Tallis, my heart pounding like a war drum.
We didn't have time.
The suppressor was charging.
Every second counted.
But Ardere's hand, blood-slick and trembling, clutched my sleeve like I was the only thing anchoring her to this world. "Just stop. Just for a second. Please."
And I did.
God help me, I did.
I stopped.
Not because I wanted to. Not because I thought it was the right thing.
But because Lysander had fallen behind, collapsed against a root knot, his eyes barely open and blood trailing from his ears like a warning. I couldn't carry both. Not like this.
So I told myself that's why I stopped.
Not for Tallis.
Not for him.
I eased Ardere down, catching her as her knees buckled. She didn't look at me. Didn't need to.
Her gaze was locked on the fight below.
The wreckage. The fire. The shadows tearing into Tallis like wolves in a blood frenzy.
And then, she stood.
God, she stood.
Shaking like a wind-stripped tree. Barely breathing. Blood dripping from her chin, soaking into her collarbones.
But her spine straightened. Her hands clenched.
And when she stepped forward, she didn't stumble. She marched.
Down into the hellfire.
Toward the people who wanted her dead.
They didn't even notice her until she was right there—right behind them.
She didn't shout.
She didn't warn.
She just whispered, low and burning:
"You want to know what pain feels like?"
The air shifted.
I don't know how to explain it, not exactly. It was like the world inhaled—and then screamed.
I've seen her do things before. Break glass with her voice. Crack stone with a flick of her fingers. Turn grown men into blubbering wrecks with a single look.
But this?
This was something else.
This was every memory that ever scarred her. Every moment of agony. Every scream she'd swallowed. Every burn. Every scar. Every time someone hurt her and walked away thinking they'd won.
She gave it to them.
All of it.
Their knees hit the dirt first, then their faces.
They crumpled like paper soaked in gasoline, thrashing, screaming, clawing at their skulls like something was trying to escape.
Tallis stared.
One eye swollen shut. Knife still in hand. Blood running down his temple.
He looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. Like maybe—just maybe—he thought she'd come for him.
He reached for her.
"Ardere—"
She took one step closer, breath shallow, voice hollow.
"This is for Haven."
He blinked. Confused. Hopeful.
But her eyes stayed cold.
"I'm not saving you, Tallis. I'm just settling a debt."
Then she turned her back on him.
Left him bleeding in the dirt as the soldiers convulsed beside him.
Alone.
Because this time, she didn't owe him anything else.
Ardere stumbled back up the hill like a ghost finally surrendering its grudge.
Her eyes met mine for half a second—just long enough for me to catch the flicker of something breaking behind them—before she dropped against my side, barely staying upright. Lysander limped into view next, dragging one leg and breathing like he'd swallowed smoke.
"We need to move," he rasped, voice shredded, barely audible over the ringing still bouncing around my skull.
But then I heard it—that hum again.
Faint. Growing louder.
My stomach dropped.
Lysander heard it too.
His eyes snapped toward the trees. "They're charging it again."
Ardere flinched against me, even before the next wave hit. She felt it.
Lysander's hand came down hard on my shoulder. "Take her. Go."
I shook my head. "Not a chance."
"Dorian—"
"You just watched her melt a squadron's minds like butter. Do you really think I'd survive if I left you behind?" I snorted. "She'd bring me back to life just to kill me again."
For a second—just a second—Lysander chuckled. That dry, wrecked kind of laugh people give when everything's going to hell and somehow it's still funny.
He nodded once. "Fair enough."
Then his expression shifted.
Dead serious. Focused.
"Cover her ears," he said.
I blinked. "What?"
"We're out of time."
The hum was a scream now.
Louder than before. Higher.
It vibrated through the ground, through our bones.
I grabbed Ardere and dropped to my knees with her, curling her into my chest like I could block it, like I could shield her.
My hands covered her ears, and I pressed my forehead to hers.
Lysander crouched.
The blast hit like the sky cracked in half.
Everything—light, noise, pain—folded in on itself. When it passed, I was still crouched over Ardere, my ears ringing, my heartbeat staggering like a drunk.
She wasn't moving.
I shook her. "Ardere."
Nothing.
I looked over—Lysander was crumpled a few feet away, blood blooming under him like ink.
Shit.
I couldn't carry them both.
Every second ticking by was another inch closer to whoever the hell sent the suppressor, and whatever round three looked like. I looked between them, between her and him, and felt something like panic coil up in my throat.
Leave one behind?
No.
Not happening.
I'd find a way.
I half-lifted Ardere, bracing her weight against me, and glanced toward Lysander—already figuring out how I could drag him. I could do it. I could—
A shadow moved in front of me.
I nearly screamed.
And then I saw the smirk. The wild, cocky smirk of a bastard I never thought I'd be happy to see.
"Riven," I breathed. "You beautiful son of a bitch."
He looked like he'd just walked out of a rave and into a war zone—glitter in his hair, blood on his boots, and not a care in the world.
"You gonna stand there choking on your feelings or are you gonna hand her over?" he said, already holding out his arms. "I'll take the firecracker. You drag Pretty Boy."
I hesitated.
"I mean it, Dorian," Riven said, voice going cold. "You think you're fine right now because the suppressor's still running. Once that fades, the second her blood touches you, you're gonna drop like a goddamn brick again. I'm the only one who can carry her without dying."
I looked down at Ardere. Her skin was burning up. Veins under her neck starting to pulse with light. The edge of the toxin was already starting to return.
I swore under my breath, one last second of reluctance, and handed her over.
Riven caught her easily, like she weighed nothing. His grip was firm, almost too careful, like he knew better than to press on her ribs or touch her skin too long. Like maybe he'd done this before.
I didn't ask.
I didn't have time.
I bent down, grabbed Lysander under the arms, and started dragging.
Riven turned without a word, moving fast through the trees like he knew where to go.
"Where are we—" I started.
"The catacombs," Riven called over his shoulder. "The ones below the old garden wall. No one's getting to us there. Trust me."
I didn't trust anyone.
But for now? I followed.
Because I had two unconscious bodies, a collapsing forest, and one bastard with glitter in his hair who might just be our last chance.
We slipped into the underground tunnel right as the third blast hit.
The walls above groaned, dirt falling in trembling little avalanches from the ceiling. The sound boomed through the stone like a freight train overhead, but down here it was muffled—distant. Like the world was ending somewhere else.
I dragged Lysander down the narrow slope, panting, arms burning. Behind me, I could hear Riven muttering quietly to Ardere—his voice low, sing-songy, like he was talking to a ghost or lulling a bomb to sleep.
The old stone path twisted once more, and then—
"Dorian!"
Araxie's voice, sharp and strained, as she ran toward us.
Ms. Marvos followed behind her, heels echoing. She looked like she hadn't slept in days—probably hadn't. Her eyes fell first on Lysander, then on Ardere in Riven's arms, and something in her expression fractured.
"Oh gods," she whispered, already reaching for Lysander. "How close were they to the epicenter?"
"Close enough," I said, letting him slide gently into her arms. My knees hit the floor harder than I meant them to.
Araxie had already taken Ardere from Riven, cradling her carefully, brushing her hair back from her sweat-slicked forehead. But it was Ms. Marvos whose face truly crumbled.
"She's—she shouldn't have even been near the suppressor. Two full blasts?" Her voice shook now, fury and panic curling together. "Her lungs—her heart—her blood won't hold much longer."
"She didn't have a choice," I said, maybe a little too sharply. "Neither of them did."
Ms. Marvos didn't snap back. Just knelt beside Lysander and laid a hand gently on his chest. Her fingers trembled.
"We need to stabilize them," she said. "Immediately. Before the residual surge from the blast catches up to their systems."
I looked at Ardere. Her breathing was shallow, lips pale. Like the color had been siphoned out of her. Her hand twitched once—just once—and then fell limp again.
Riven sat cross-legged in the corner now, watching with quiet interest.
"You should've seen her before the first blast," he said. "She was still standing. Laughing even. And then boom—down she went. Lights out, just like that. Romantic, really."
"Shut up," I muttered. But I wasn't really mad. Not right now. Not when the only reason I still had them both was because he'd shown up.
Ms. Marvos looked up at me. "You said the suppressor hit three times?"
I nodded.
"Then we may not have much time."
"What do you mean?"
"The third blast didn't just hit the surface. There's a chance it rippled down here. We might've bought ourselves minutes—if that. She's not just injured, Dorian. The toxin in her system is unstable. The suppressor knocks it dormant, but when it rebounds..."
"She'll start to poison everyone again," I finished, my throat dry.
Ms. Marvos nodded slowly. "Unless we do something now."
I looked at Ardere again, felt my chest tighten like I couldn't breathe deep enough. I had no idea how we were going to fix this.
But I knew I wasn't losing her here. Not after everything.
Not like this.
Ms. Marvos worked with steady hands, even if her mouth was a grim line the entire time.
Araxie returned with what was left of our stolen cache—mostly dried-out syringes and unmarked vials salvaged from a Grove med-bay before we'd burned it to the ground. They smelled like bleach and formaldehyde and still had the Grove's seal half-scuffed off the labels. No one asked what they were meant for. Marvos didn't need them to be perfect. Just useful.
She injected Lysander first. He flinched in his sleep but didn't wake, his eyes fluttering under bruised lids. His pulse thumped, steady but shallow, beneath the pale skin of his neck.
Ardere got the worst of it. Her veins were burning black beneath the surface, faint but visible. Marvos whispered under her breath as she worked—probably spells. Maybe prayers. I didn't ask.
"She'll survive this," she muttered finally, straightening. "But she won't be safe. Not for a while."
"What do you mean not safe?" I asked, already on edge.
"Her grief," Ms. Marvos said. "The suppressor blasts pushed it so deep it fractured. When it rebounds, it won't be quiet." She glanced back at Ardere, then to me. "She'll be a hurricane, Dorian. A walking collapse. She'll tear the empathy out of anyone near her without meaning to."
"She's not going to mean to hurt anyone," I said.
"I know. That's why it'll be worse."
I glanced at Lysander—already bandaged, color returning slowly to his face. "But we can bring him."
"Yes," Marvos nodded. "His power doesn't affect others when it rebounds. Ardere's will. We can stabilize Lysander on the move."
I already knew where this was going. I hated it anyway.
"And what? You want to leave her here?"
"She won't be alone," Ms. Marvos said quietly. "Riven stays."
"Absolutely not."
"It's not a request."
I took a step toward her. "You're leaving her with him? Alone? After everything?"
"He's the only one who won't be affected. He doesn't feel it—her grief. He never has. He's safe."
"She's not," I growled.
"No," Ms. Marvos said. "But she will be. When she wakes up and her energy levels off—then we'll come back. But if any of us are still here when the backlash hits, it could kill us."
Riven was already sitting on the edge of the cot beside her, looking oddly pleased by the whole arrangement. He tilted his head toward me with a shrug.
"Don't worry, Dorian. I'll read her poetry and feed her sugar water 'til she levels out."
I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt.
"You can say goodbye," Marvos said, gently this time. "But then we need to move. Put as much space as we can between her and the rest of us before the ripple hits."
I crossed to Ardere's side and knelt beside her. Her face was still pale, but some of the edge had softened. She looked like she was sleeping.
I reached for her hand. It was warm.
"I'll be back," I whispered. "You're not staying here. Not forever."
Her fingers twitched once in mine, then stilled again.
"Don't let him mess with your head too much, alright?" I added, eyes flicking briefly toward Riven, then back to her. "Don't make me kill him."
Then I stood. Gutted. Hollow. And forced myself to walk away.
***
The farther we got from the blast zone, the harder it became to tell time. Everything blurred together: the ache in my legs, the damp chill in my lungs, the muted footfalls echoing through the carved tunnels. I couldn't stop thinking about her. Every step away felt wrong, like gravity was trying to drag me back by the collar.
Ms. Marvos finally called for a stop. "We're far enough," she said, but her voice was hollow, like she didn't believe her own words.
Everyone collapsed where they stood. I didn't sit. Couldn't. I stared back the way we came, like if I focused hard enough, I'd see her walking up with Riven like none of this ever happened.
Araxie came up beside me. She had a water-stained bandage pressed to one temple, her usually-perfect braid unraveling. "You okay?" she asked, like she didn't already know the answer.
I huffed a bitter laugh. "Do I look okay?"
She shrugged, crouching next to me with the grace of someone used to running on fumes. "You look like someone who needs to hear that Ardere's going to be fine."
"She's with Riven," I muttered.
"She's been with Riven before."
I looked at her. "Yeah, but not after everything that's happened."
Araxie tilted her head. "You mean today?"
I nodded, then the words started spilling out before I could stop them. "She woke up this morning to Tallis with a gun pointed at her. Then we were dragged into the woods and used like bait. She had to stand there while he threatened to kill us, humiliate us. Then the only reason she got away was because someone shot at him, not her. And we come back, and everything's on fire. Her people are dying. And then that sound—"
I shivered, remembering the way the noise had made her bleed from everywhere. Like the air itself hated her.
"She's drowning in all of this, and she still tried to save Tallis." My jaw clenched. "And now she's waking up alone. With no one she trusts."
Araxie was quiet for a long beat. Then she said, "That's not true."
I looked up.
"She trusts you," she said softly. "Even now. Even if it doesn't feel like it."
"How would you know?"
"Because if she didn't, she would've let you run. She wouldn't have asked you to stop. She wouldn't have stayed long enough to be hurt again just to make sure you got out." Araxie nudged my arm. "And for what it's worth, Riven might be a beautiful bastard, but he'll keep her alive."
I gave a dry laugh at that. "You just called him beautiful."
"Don't read into it," she warned, smiling faintly. "You're still the only one stupid enough to love her like you do."
Lysander woke up swinging.
One minute, he was unconscious on the floor beside a half-melted med kit. The next, he was halfway to his feet, teeth gritted and eyes wild, shoving Araxie off with a strength that surprised even him. His body moved like he was still in the field, like someone had dropped him right back into the blood-wet grass beside a suppressor who wouldn't stop firing.
"Where is she?" he snapped, fists clenched, voice cracking under the strain of panic and leftover adrenaline. "Where's Ardere?"
"Lysander, wait—" I barely got the words out before he lunged again, knocking over a pack and backing up like he was ready to take all of us on.
Ms. Marvos was on him first, grabbing his shoulders and anchoring him down with a force no one her size should've had. Araxie slid in beside her, whispering something low and steady that he didn't hear. "Lysander—Lys, stop," I said, kneeling in front of him. "You're safe. You're okay. But you need to breathe."
His eyes snapped to mine, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling like he couldn't get enough air. "Why—where is she? What happened—?"
"She's alive," I said, loud enough to cut through the noise. "But she's not with us right now."
That only made it worse.
"What the hell does that mean?" he barked, struggling again. "You left her? Are you out of your mind? You left her with those freaks—!"
"Lysander!" Ms. Marvos snapped, her voice sharp as a whip. "Listen to me."
He froze like he'd been slapped.
"She's stable. Her grief—her power—it wasn't safe for any of us to be near. Riven volunteered to stay. He's immune to her emotional fallout. You're not. None of us are."
"I don't give a shit if it's not safe," Lysander hissed, but his voice was cracking now, the rage fraying into something thinner, something scared. "We don't leave her. That's not—she wakes up alone?"
"She wakes up with someone who can withstand her," Ms. Marvos said, not unkindly. "That's the only reason we took you and left her. Your powers bounce. Hers destroy."
Lysander didn't fight anymore. He just sat there breathing like each inhale hurt. His hands flexed like he didn't know what to do with them. I knew the feeling.
"I should've been there," he whispered.
"You were," I told him. "We all were. And we'll be there again as soon as it's safe."
But even as I said it, I couldn't shake the image of Ardere waking up, broken and alone, with only Riven's grin waiting for her in the dark.
—
I was dreaming. I knew I was dreaming.
But that didn't stop the panic.
Ardere was on the floor.
Barefoot, gasping. Her knuckles scraped and bleeding from pounding them into the stone until I could hear bone beneath skin. Her hair clung to her face in wet strands, sweat slicked across her temples, her back, her stomach. Every time she breathed, it was like her ribs might snap from the pressure. She clawed at her own arms like she was trying to rip the grief out of her skin, tear the energy loose from her bones.
"No, no, no—" she choked, over and over again, like a prayer with no god.
The hum of her power was deafening. Like standing inside a scream. Everything around her warped with it—light and air and stone bending wrong. Her aura pulsed with so much intensity that the ground cracked underneath her. Black veins of power spiderwebbed out like the whole earth was rotting.
And he just sat there.
Riven.
Cross-legged a few feet away. His head tilted like he was watching a damn art film.
He didn't speak.
Didn't move.
Didn't help.
I tried to move toward her—tried—but I couldn't. My legs wouldn't work. My hands wouldn't obey. I screamed her name, but the sound got swallowed by the pressure in the air. Like her powers were pushing me back, holding me out.
She slammed her head into the ground.
Once. Twice.
"Stop!" I roared, finally forcing one step forward.
She didn't hear me. She didn't see me.
She was alone in it.
And Riven just watched.
Eyes cold.
Like he'd seen this a thousand times before and didn't give a damn.
"DO SOMETHING!" I shrieked at him.
His eyes flicked toward me. And he smiled.
"She's purging," he said calmly, lazily. "Let her."
Let her?
She was dying in front of me.
Ardere let out a raw, animal scream and her body arched off the ground. Something cracked—loud—and blood spilled from her nose. Her mouth. Her ears.
Then her eyes met mine.
Not glowing. Not blazing. Just… wide. Wet. Broken.
Ardere slammed her fists into the ground. The stone cracked. Blood smeared across her knuckles. Her face was soaking, red and hot and wild—like she was drowning in a storm made entirely of herself.
"Please," I said, louder. "Riven, do something!"
He didn't even blink.
She punched herself.
Her head. Her collarbone.
Like she could knock the grief out of herself.
Like she could shatter the part of her that hurt this much.
I didn't wake up.
God, I wanted to—but the dream wouldn't let me go.
The ground didn't catch me like it should've. I was just there again. No warning, no mercy. One moment Ardere was sobbing into her own fists, Riven watching like a statue, and the next—
We were in the woods.
That clearing.
The one from earlier.
I knew it instantly—the smell of moss and mud and old fear soaked into the bark. The blood-stained leaves. The silence like the forest was holding its breath.
Ardere was on her knees.
Her hands zip-tied behind her back.
Her face already bruised.
I remembered this. Every awful second of it.
Tallis, pacing. His gun loose in his hand.
Me spitting blood onto the ground, my face broken open from the last time I tried to lunge for her.
But this time—
This time it wasn't ending the way it had.
Tallis didn't hesitate.
He didn't gloat.
He didn't wait for backup.
He knelt in front of Ardere and grabbed her jaw like she was a thing. Like she wasn't human.
And she still looked at him with that fire in her eyes.
I tried to move. I screamed at my legs to work, to break through the invisible wall of dread pinning me down. But I couldn't even breathe.
"You think you're so untouchable," Tallis whispered, brushing a piece of her hair behind her ear like he thought it was gentle.
She didn't flinch. But her eyes flicked to me—
Not asking for help.
Just saying goodbye.
Then he hit her.
It was different this time. It wasn't the slap from before. It wasn't calculated.
It was violent.
Ugly.
Final.
He slammed her into the dirt, pressed the muzzle of his gun against her throat.
She didn't scream.
She didn't beg.
But I did.
I begged.
I cried like a goddamn coward because I knew what was coming and I couldn't stop it.
"Please," I said. "Please don't—please not like this—please, she didn't—"
But Tallis didn't even look at me.
And when the shot rang out—
I felt it in my chest.
Like it was me who'd been hit.
Like it was my world being shattered in half.
She hit the ground like she was asleep.
No more fire.
No more light.
No more Ardere.
I dropped to my knees and couldn't scream.
Couldn't cry.
Couldn't do anything but watch, frozen, as Tallis stood up and walked past me.
His voice, calm and detached:
"You shouldn't have let her stay with people like us."
I thought that had been the worst of it.
Her lifeless body in the dirt. The sound of the gunshot still ricocheting through my skull.
But no.
The dream wasn't done with me.
It yanked me deeper.
Twisted the knife.
Now we were back in the cabin.
Her cabin.
Only it didn't feel like hers anymore.
It smelled like smoke and sweat and whatever Tallis used to drown out the rot in his soul. The walls were too dark. The lights too dim. Everything warped like a bad memory left out in the rain.
And there she was.
Ardere.
Limp.
Folded into the couch like a discarded marionette. Eyes glassy. Skin pale.
Tallis cradled her like a goddamn trophy.
He was laughing.
The smoke trailed from his lips to hers—
blown deliberately into her slack mouth like he was feeding it to her.
"Didn't take much," he said, voice syrupy with pride. "Girl's tougher when she's sober."
I couldn't move.
I couldn't move.
But I saw everything.
His hand trailing down her thigh like he owned her.
The way her head lolled sideways, the barest sound escaping her lips—not a word, not a protest, just the dying echo of a breath that didn't want to be there.
He looked at me then.
Right at me.
"You said she hated being touched."
He grinned.
"Guess she doesn't mind when it's me."
I tried to shout.
To tackle him.
To rip him off her.
But my body wouldn't listen.
My mouth was sewn shut by terror and shame.
"She didn't say no."
He whispered it like a secret.
Like a confession he was proud of.
"She didn't say anything at all."
And then he kissed her.
And I—
I broke.
I fell to my knees as the dream collapsed around me, the walls burning away in silent fire, but Ardere stayed. Her body crumpled. Her mouth still slightly open from that last breath of smoke. Her wrists dark with bruises I hadn't seen until now.
And all I could do was scream inside my own skull—
because somewhere, deep down,
some part of me was afraid this wasn't just a dream.
"Dorian."
A voice—soft but urgent.
My shoulder was shaking. No—being shaken.
"Dorian. Wake up."
I tore awake with a gasp so loud it echoed off the stone walls. My heart was punching through my ribs, my hands already halfway to throwing someone off me.
"Hey—hey!" Araxie's voice cracked through the panic, and I blinked, breath ragged. "It's me. It's just me."
The cavern ceiling swam into view—dull rock and shadow and no one else. No Tallis. No couch. No smoke.
Just Araxie kneeling beside me, her hair sticking to her forehead from sleep and heat.
"You were…" she looked down at her hands, unsure whether to say it out loud, "you were fighting something. In your sleep. Kicking. Clawing. You nearly nailed Lysander when he got too close."
I sat up, chest heaving. Sweat soaked through my shirt. My nails had left half-moon dents in the floor beneath me.
My voice came out hoarse. "Sorry. I—I didn't know I was—"
"You said her name." Araxie didn't say who. She didn't have to. "A few times. Then you stopped. Then you screamed."
I ran my hands over my face. My eyes burned. My skin felt wrong.
She waited, watching me closely. Like I might explode or collapse or both.
"Was it about her?" she asked finally.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
Her voice lowered. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
The word escaped sharper than I meant it.
She didn't flinch. Just nodded like she expected it.
"Okay," she said. "Then drink something. Your hands are shaking."
I looked down. She was right. They trembled like I was freezing. Like my own body didn't believe I was safe yet.
I took the water she offered and swallowed half of it in a single breath.
Araxie sat down next to me, cross-legged, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
"She's still alive," she murmured. "And she's still her. Whatever your mind's trying to convince you of—that's not what's happening up there."
"You don't know that," I whispered.
"No," she admitted. "But I know her. And I know you. And I know dreams like that lie."
I didn't answer.
Because dreams like that didn't come from nowhere.
They came from somewhere deep and dark and buried in truth.
And right now, I wasn't sure where the truth ended and the fear began.
It started like a shiver in my spine. A cold, sinking ache that had no business being there. I was already awake—barely sleeping at all since Araxie woke me—but this wasn't exhaustion. It wasn't fear either.
It was grief. Big and slow and raw, dragging its nails down the inside of my chest.
Lysander was the first to say it out loud.
"…Did something just feel wrong to anyone else?"
I looked up. He was sitting against the far wall with a hand clutched over his heart like it physically hurt to breathe. Araxie had gone still beside me, her lips parted, eyes unfocused like she was trying to listen for something too far away to hear.
Then someone—Marvos, I think—exhaled, long and trembling. "I feel like crying and I don't know why."
"It's not you," I said before I even thought about it. I was already standing.
It's her.
The air itself felt heavy, like it was trying to crush the breath out of my lungs. I felt it in the way Lysander clenched his fists without knowing, in the way Araxie bit her lip like she was trying not to scream. Even the damn cave lights flickered low, casting everything in a mournful half-shadow.
"She's awake," I said quietly. "Ardere."
Araxie looked at me. "Are you sure?"
"You feel it, don't you?"
She nodded slowly, face pale. "Yeah. Like the world's unraveling just a little."
"Her grief," Lysander whispered. "She's leaking again."
The group fell silent.
None of us said it, but we all thought the same thing:
If this is what it feels like from miles away…
What the hell is Riven going through right now?
And how long do we have before it gets worse?
It shifted.
One moment, it was sorrow—crushing, suffocating sorrow—and then it sharpened. Spiked into something erratic and hot and gasping.
Panic.
It tore through the underground like a scream no one could hear. Araxie curled in on herself like her heart had just seized. Lysander let out a low, strangled sound and gripped his head, blood streaking fresh beneath his nose.
"What the hell is happening to her?" I asked, forcing the words past the dryness in my throat. I didn't feel it—not the way they did. But I saw it. All of it.
Araxie shook her head in short, frantic bursts. "It's her—it's Ardere. She's awake. She's losing control."
"She's panicking," I said, my voice hoarse. "She's spiking. Her powers must've surged. She's feeling everything all at once."
"She's going to collapse the whole goddamn tunnel," Lysander growled, still hunched over, his hands trembling. "This isn't normal. This isn't grief. It's burning."
Ms. Marvos stood slowly from her corner, face pale but calm in that disarming, clinical way of hers. "This is fallout from the suppressor."
I turned toward her. "The sound? What the hell is in it?"
"It's not just sound," she said, quietly. "Not really. It's resonance. It targets the brainwaves specific to heightened neural activity—what most of you would call 'powers.'"
"It made them bleed," I muttered, eyeing the red on Araxie's lip. "It looked like it was killing them."
"It doesn't kill," she said. "Not unless it's turned all the way up. But it splits. It breaks the bond between the person and their control over their own ability. I've seen it used in the labs—field tests. Interrogation rooms. It doesn't just suppress. It leaves cracks."
"Cracks?" I echoed.
"In the mind. In the self." Her jaw tightened. "Sometimes when the effect wears off, the powers rush back in like floodwater. And the host? They drown in it."
My stomach twisted. "So when Ardere woke up…"
"She didn't just wake," Ms. Marvos said. "She detonated."
Lysander let out a low groan. "Then we need to sedate her. Lock her down before she levels the whole bunker."
"You sedate her again," I snapped, "and we'll be right back where we started."
"She's pulling us into it," Araxie said, her voice trembling. "I can't keep her out. None of us can."
"How long?" I asked, my voice tight. "How long until it wears off?"
Ms. Marvos didn't answer right away. She was staring off at nothing, her expression carved from something old and bitter. Finally, she said, "It varies. Hours. Days. Depends on the subject. How strong their powers are. How deep the sound got into their neural pathways."
I clenched my jaw. "So you're saying she could be stuck like this—spiraling—for days?"
"I'm saying," she replied, evenly, "there's no guaranteed timeline. Especially not with someone like Ardere. You can't cage a storm and expect it to settle politely when you open the door."
"That's not good enough," I snapped. "We can't just wait around while she tears herself apart."
Ms. Marvos turned toward me, her face unreadable. "And what would you have us do, Dorian? You think a hug and a few whispered reassurances are going to pull her back from what's happening in her head right now?"
I didn't answer.
Because she was right.
And I hated that she was right.
I looked away, teeth grinding behind my lips.
There was nothing I could do.
Not right now.
Not unless I wanted to shatter her all over again.