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Chapter 67 - Shadows in the Light

The girl's body lay limp on the counter, pale and thin as though life itself had been leached from her bones. Her clothes — little more than shredded rags — clung to her in tatters, stiff with dried blood. Every visible inch of skin bore some mark: bruises that bloomed in grotesque shades of violet and green, cuts scabbed over without tending, patches of grime from streets that had long since ceased to be fit for human dwelling.

She seemed younger than her actual age, like someone who had been pressed flat beneath years of cruelty until her spirit had shrunk to fit.

The apprentices hovered in the background, their knuckles white where they gripped pestles or cloths. Nobles who had come to gawk at "the boy genius alchemist" forgot their purchases entirely, frozen in fascination.

Niamh's jaw was clenched so tight the cords in her neck stood out. Amara kept wringing the hem of her apron, tears threatening already. Lio lingered nearest, eyes blazing with something rawer than fear — anger.

Only Jade was still.

He leaned over the counter, the sleeves of his robe tied back, his long hair cascading over one shoulder like a waterfall of moonlight. His hand hovered over the girl's chest, palm barely brushing the thin fabric covering her sternum.

Jade inhaled slowly. There was no panic in his face , only a strange stillness, the kind born of knowing every thread of outcome. To him, this girl wasn't just flesh and blood. She was a series of equations, a map of injuries laid bare before his divine eyes.

He reached for a vial, the liquid within glowing faintly blue. "Distilled Moonpetal. Reduces internal swelling, bolsters recovery of tissue."

Amara hurried forward to hand him a sterilized syringe. Her hands shook so violently the needle rattled against the glass. Jade caught it before it fell, his movements fluid, graceful.

"You'll do better next time," he said softly to her. There was no scolding in it, no edge just quiet reassurance. Amara's eyes stung as she nodded, retreating quickly.

He administered the vial with practiced precision, the girl's pulse fluttering at the contact. Her chest rose in a shudder, then settled.

"Water," Jade said. Selene moved instantly with startling urgency, dipping the basin toward him like an attendant rather than a governor's wife. She didn't care for her dignity now. Not when a child lay dying before her.

Jade rinsed his hands, the basin rippling with faint light from the alchemical stone within, then began working with herbs. His fingers danced —grinding, sprinkling, layering powders onto the girl's wounds in patterns that looked almost like calligraphy. Each stroke glowed faintly before fading into the skin, the alchemical compounds fusing with her body.

The shop was silent but for the rasp of his movements. Nobles who had once sneered at "the slum-born prodigy" now found themselves holding their breath, their hearts thrumming as though they were the ones under his hands.

"Her ribs will heal in time," Jade murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. "But the infection… that is the true danger."

He summoned another vial, this one filled with liquid like liquid silver. "Silverfern extract, refined to Tier Three potency. This will burn."

He injected it carefully into the wound at her side. Immediately the girl convulsed, her lips parting in a voiceless cry even in unconsciousness. Her body trembled violently.

Selene flinched, her hands flying to her mouth. "She—she's—!"

"She is fighting," Jade said simply, pressing her shoulders down with surprising gentleness for such small hands. "Let her."

Lio, unable to contain himself, leaned in. "Jade… is she—?"

"She won't die here," Jade answered without hesitation, voice calm as still water. He glanced at Lio then, just briefly. "You did well to find her."

The words struck Lio harder than he expected. For three years he had been chasing Jade's shadow, always feeling like a boy clinging at the heels of a legend. To hear those quiet words of acknowledgment made his throat close. He bit down on it, staring fiercely at the girl instead.

The convulsions passed. Jade wiped sweat from her brow with a cloth, his hands unshaken. Slowly, the girl's breathing evened, ragged but steady.

Jade reached again for herbs, combining them into a salve that glowed faintly blue as he spread it over her cracked lips and temples. The glow seeped into her skin, her face softening just enough to look less like death.

"She will wake," Jade said quietly, arranging her hair back from her face with surprising tenderness. "But what she says when she does… may not be gratitude."

The weight in those words made Niamh's throat tighten. She knew Jade too well. He wasn't speaking from arrogance. He was speaking from experience. From the same hard streets this girl had crawled through.

The silence in the shop deepened, heavy as iron. Every apprentice, every noble, even Selene — all were waiting for that fragile moment when life would return to the battered girl.

Jade folded a cloth beneath her head, smoothing it carefully. Then he drew back, his eyes dimming, their glow fading until they were once again merely beautiful, strange eyes that no one could quite look away from.

He whispered, barely audible: "It's your choice now."

And as though in answer, the girl stirred.

Her eyelids fluttered. Her lips trembled. Her throat rasped.

A sound escaped her — a broken, cracked sob.

It cut through the air sharper than any scream. For a heartbeat, no one moved. The girl's fingers twitched weakly against the counter, curled like she was still trying to defend herself from unseen blows.

Her eyes cracked open. Not wide — just enough for light to slip inside. They were clouded, rimmed red with exhaustion and fever. She blinked against the brightness of the shop, as though it were a cruel trick of the mind.

Selene leaned forward, voice trembling with relief. "She's awake…"

The girl's gaze slid past her, unfocused, before finding Jade. She stared at him for a long moment, taking in the silver-white hair, the steady eyes, the calm that radiated from him like frost. Her lips moved, and at first, no sound came.

Then, hoarse and raw:

"…why?"

Jade tilted his head. "Why what?"

Her throat bobbed as if swallowing shards of glass. "Why… did you save me?"

The words spilled with bitter weight. Her eyes filled, not with gratitude but with anguish. "You shouldn't have. You should have let me die. I don't… I don't want this. I don't want to live anymore."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Amara clapped her hands over her mouth, sobbing already. Lio took a step forward, fury blazing in his face at the cruelty she had endured, at the hopelessness in her words. Niamh's chest heaved, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes.

Selene's hands trembled where they gripped the counter. This wasn't how rescues were supposed to go. In her mind, saving someone meant joy, relief, gratitude. Yet here was a child, weeping as if salvation itself were torment.

The girl turned her face away, tears leaking down her temples into her matted hair. "It's worse to be alive. Worse to go back. They'll find me again. They'll hurt me again. They'll hurt my sister," her voice broke, "—and I'll watch it happen all over."

She sobbed until it sounded like her body might shatter with the force of it.

Selene's vision blurred as tears finally broke loose. She reached for the girl's hand, pressing it to her cheek. "No. No one will hurt you again. I swear it, on my name, on my husband's seat—"

The girl flinched violently, trying to pull away, as if Selene's promise was nothing more than another lie dressed in silk. "Don't swear. Don't pretend you care. You're just—" She coughed hard, spitting blood into her palm. "You're just like them. All of you. Nobles. Watching. Doing nothing while we… while we rot in the slums."

Her voice rose in a cracked shriek before falling into another fit of sobbing.

The shop was deathly still. The apprentices, who had once dared to sneak glances at Selene, lowered their eyes in shame. The nobles near the entrance shrank back, their fine robes feeling like chains of guilt.

Jade hadn't moved. His expression remained unreadable, though the glow of his eyes had softened. He watched the girl, quiet, detached — as if he were weighing her words on scales only he could see.

At last, he spoke.

"Your wounds will heal." His tone was steady, almost cold. "Whether your spirit does… that is not my place."

Niamh spun to him, her voice raw. "Jade!"

But he didn't waver. "I saved your body. The rest is your choice." His gaze didn't flinch from the girl, though his words were softer than before. "Live or don't. That is not something anyone can force."

The girl let out a hollow laugh between sobs, bitter and broken. "Then let me die. Please. I'm so tired. Please…"

Niamh's tears fell freely now. "Jade, how can you say that? She's just a child!"

"She's fifteen," Jade said simply. "Old enough to know her pain."

The words were ice, but they weren't cruel. Just absolute. And that, somehow, made them worse.

Selene pressed the girl's hand to her chest, rocking her gently, as though sheer warmth could keep her tethered. "Listen to me, little one. You are not alone anymore. You are under my care now. Under the Governor's care. No one will touch you again."

But the girl's tears kept flowing. "That's what they all say," she whispered. "Then the cages come back. The chains. The laughing… the burning…"

Her voice cracked into silence.

Jade stood apart, his arms folded loosely. For all the brilliance of his healing, he seemed untouched by the grief unraveling before him. It was not indifference — it was distance, the careful space of someone who had learned long ago that emotions could drown a person faster than any wound.

Niamh couldn't bear it. She turned to him, face streaked with tears, her voice trembling like a whip about to crack. "How can you just stand there? You, of all people, Jade. You know what this city does to children. You know what it did to you."

Her words hit like arrows loosed from a bowstring.

Jade froze. Just slightly. Enough for Niamh to see.

Her tears fell harder. "Don't tell me it's not your business. Don't tell me to let her choose. If you close your heart now, you're no better than the ones who left you in that dumpster!"

The room went still.

Even Selene gasped, scandalized by the rawness of Niamh's cry. But it was too late — the words had struck, and Jade's stillness wasn't untouchable anymore. A tremor ran through his fingers where they gripped his robe.

He turned his head away, silvery hair hiding his face. For the first time, he looked less like the untouchable prodigy of Nexus, and more like the child he truly was.

Niamh fell to her knees, sobbing openly now, clutching the girl's frail form as if trying to shield her with her own body. "Please, Jade. Don't shut her out. Don't shut us out. She needs you. I need you."

The sound of her breaking filled the shop like a storm.

And Jade… finally relented.

He exhaled, a breath that sounded far older than ten years. He hates to see Niamh cry. He had vowed to himself to keep her safe and happy as the person who loved and care for him in this life.

Seeing her like that provoked something in him he didn't like. And hen he looked up, the frost in his eyes had thawed. He moved forward slowly, gently placing his hand on the girl's forehead. His touch was light, not commanding, not clinical — just there. Present.

"You are safe here," he said at last. "Not because of nobles. Not because of promises. But because I will not allow otherwise."

The girl's sobbing eased, not in trust, but in sheer exhaustion. Her eyes fluttered shut again, tears staining her cheeks even in sleep.

Selene lifted her gaze then, her cheeks wet, but her resolve sharpened into steel. She turned to Niamh, to Jade, to the girl's fragile body.

"This will not stand," she whispered. Then louder, with fire: "If Kael does not act this very day, I will see to it he never enters my bedchamber again."

The shop went silent again. But this time, with shock.

Even Jade blinked, stunned.

Somewhere in the Governor's mansion, Kael sneezed, unaware that his peaceful evening had just been obliterated.

....

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