The world had taken everything from me. Why would it let me keep him? I’d stopped hoping. Stopped imagining what it would feel like to see him again.
But there he was.
Alive. Unharmed.
Will.
He looked different. Dressed like he wanted to disappear into the shadows. Cloaked in black, layered in thick wool and leather straps, soaked to the bone like the rain hadn’t let up in days.
For a second, I thought I was hallucinating.
But it was him.
Gods. It was really him.
He rushed toward me, and my mind couldn’t keep up.
“How are you—?” The words tumbled out before I could catch them.
“I’m here.” He dropped to his knees at my side.
“I came back. I found you… brought you here. I thought—”
His voice broke, and he swallowed hard. “I should have stayed. I should have protected you.”
He caught my hand in both of his, holding it carefully, like I might break.
“Do you remember what happened?”
And just like that, the memories surged back.
The fire. The screaming. Arche’s face. His voice. His laugh. My parents.
I yanked my hand from Will’s just as a man stepped into the room. Calm. Steady. A long white coat hanging off his frame.
“Good day, miss,” he greeted. “I’m Dr. Marren. How are you feeling?”
“Better.” The lie scraped out of me.
Ingela moved quietly to stand beside him, her hands folded neatly at her waist.
“We must tend to your wounds,” she murmured. “If we do not, they could fester.”
I turned away as she reached for my arm, shame rising like bile in my throat. I caught Will’s eyes, just for a second, then dropped my gaze. I couldn’t stand the thought of him seeing me ruined. I remembered crawling out of my burning house. Tearing my skin open.
The last wrap came off. I forced myself to look.
Whole.
Smooth.
Untouched.
No cuts. No blisters. Not even a scar.
It didn’t make sense.
Healing should have taken months, maybe years. And even then, I’d never look like this. Not as if it had never happened at all.
