All silence.
Only the sound of water striking stone. From far away, music drifted in—its bass like faint, distant heartbeats.
Rheia looked around.
The trees beside the bridge leaned toward her, their branches stretching like slow, reaching hands. The grass stood stiff, blades sharp in the dim light, refusing to bend with the night breeze.
Her eyes fell to Avon. She looked over his arm.
His wounds were gone—vanished as if they had never been. Yet the blood remained, dark and thick, pooling beside him, soaking into the dirt.
Red stains clung to his shirt like ink pressed into the fabric, refusing to fade.
She didn't understand what had happened.
Still, his hand clung to hers. The grip was tight, steady in a way that unnerved her. Cold. Calm.
She touched the bloodstain, hands shivering.
Nothing. No wound, no tear in the flesh. Her fingers trailed across his skin—it was warm.
Her heart raced. She lowered his head gently back to the ground, trying to slip her hand free from his grip.
But as she pulled away, Avon's fingers tightened.
His hand jerked her closer, even as his eyes stayed shut. The grip was unyielding, almost desperate. She froze, breath caught in her throat.
"Avon…" she whispered, voice trembling.
No response.
"Avon," she called again, louder.
"Aarh…" His eyes opened.
Rheia knelt in front of him, facing him. Her face was pale, tears streaking down her cheeks.
His gaze darted to his right arm—the one shattered before.
Slowly, he raised it. Fingers flexed, curling and uncurling as if testing the strings of a new body.
He pushed himself upright, blinking as if waking. He checked his other hand as if expecting to find it broken.
Only then did he notice his other hand, still tangled with Rheia's. Realization flickered across his face.
Slowly, he loosened his grip, his fingers sliding free.
His eyes dropped to his chest. The stains were there, dark and spreading. The blood hadn't gone.
He rose with a heavy sigh, shoulders sagging. He wet his lips with his tongue.
Rheia stayed on the ground, knees tucked close, staring up at him with wide, uncertain eyes.
Avon met her gaze. His voice was rough, unsteady.
"You… you healed me."
His eyes swam, dizzy and unfocused.
He staggered, lifting a fist to his head, knocking it once as if to rattle himself awake. He shook his head hard.
"Come with me."
He didn't wait for her answer. His feet were already moving, steps uneven but determined.
After a stride, his voice cut back, sharp and commanding.
"Now!!!"
Rheia flinched. Her body jolted before her mind caught up, and she scrambled to her feet. Her legs wavered, but she pushed forward, running after him.
They slipped into the car, doors slamming shut with a hollow echo.
Avon reached straight for the water. His movements were rough, desperate—like a man who hadn't touched a drop in days.
He snatched up the half-crushed can they'd left behind, ripped it open, and drank in heavy gulps.
Silence settled again, thick and unmoving inside the car.
Vrrmmmm…
Avon twisted the key. The engine roared awake, rattling through the cabin. He threw a glance in the mirror, jaw set, then slammed it into reverse.
The tires screamed. The car jolted back, drifting across the ground before snapping straight. With a surge of torque, it shot forward, cutting through the night at brutal speed.
Avon drove like death itself was at their heels. The tires hissed on wet asphalt, the engine howling as the speed climbed higher.
Rheia clung to the seat, heart lodged in her throat. She didn't know what was happening—didn't know where he was taking her.
"Where are we going?" Her voice cracked, thin with fear.
Avon didn't answer. His eyes stayed fixed on the blur of road ahead, hands rigid on the wheel.
"Where are we going?!" she cried again, louder this time, desperation breaking through.
"We can't go home like this. We've got a property nearby. We'll change there." His voice was flat, eyes never leaving the road.
Rheia dropped her gaze. That was when she noticed the dark blotches spreading across her dress, the fabric stiff with dried blood.
Her eyes slid sideways. Avon's shirt was worse—soaked through, the stains dark and heavy, ink pressed deep into the cloth.
The car slowed, rolling to a stop beside a lake house.
Avon leaned forward, pulling a small key from the glovebox. At last, he turned to her, his eyes catching hers.
"Come."
Rheia hesitated, then pushed the door open. The night air struck her skin, cool and damp with the scent of the lake. They walked side by side toward the house.
The moment they stepped inside, Avon stripped off his shirt.
Rheia's eyes caught on his back as he passed. The muscles across his shoulders and ribs flexed like a seasoned raider's, carved for survival.
But on his left side, just beneath the ribs, a strange discoloration spread faintly across the skin.
"Suit yourself. Clothes are in the closet—room on the left." His words came flat, tossed over his shoulder with a quick gesture before the door closed behind him.
A moment later, the hiss of the shower filled the silence.
Rheia drifted toward the room he had mentioned. Her hand brushed along the wall until her fingers found the switch in the dim light.
She opened the closet. Only a handful of old T-shirts hung there, colors faded; a few shorts were folded carelessly on the shelf. Her hand hovered, then pulled one down.
As she turned, her eyes caught the mirror on the wall.
Her face stared back, swollen and pale, the skin beneath her eyes puffy and raw—marked by fear and tears. She barely recognized herself.
Stepping out of the room, she wore the borrowed shirt; it was loose against her curves.
--------------------
Avon was sitting on the couch, a glass of scotch resting in his right hand. His gaze stayed fixed on the lake beyond the window.
His face, though shadowed, was calmer than before—no rage, no urgency.
Rheia eased down beside him. "Shall we—"
"Are you the reason for the attack in Morvenheir?" He didn't let her finish. The question cut through the quiet. He turned, his brows furrowing.
"What? No." Her throat tightened.
"Then… are you using this for the first time? This—this healing?"
"I had no idea I could do something like that." Her voice was low.
Avon set the glass aside and leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. "Here's the thing. What do you know about the Curse of Araenya?"
Rheia shook her head. "I don't know… why are you asking me this? Let's just go home."
"Home?" His eyes hardened. "You lost that privilege." The words struck her like a slap. "Hear me out…"
Her lips parted, but no sound came. Avon's gaze shifted to the window, to the dark stretch of lake.
"You've heard of the Void Forest in the Outlands, haven't you?"
Slowly, she nodded.
"There are creatures there. They attract the curse—the same curse you're carrying now. The Curse of Araenya. What happened in Morvenheir—it will happen again. And it won't just follow you—it will follow me. To my home."
His voice cut sharp, unrelenting.
"Your options are limited, Rheia. Either you surrender to the government… or you leave."
Her breath caught. Shock crashed through her chest, too sharp to hold. Tears slipped free, sliding down her cheeks in silence.
"Now get in the car. You'll leave first thing in the morning."
Avon was already on his feet, striding straight toward the door. Outside, the air reeked of salt.