I stiffened. I hadn’t expected that.
“I’m not asking you to trust me,” he added. “Hell, I wouldn’t trust me if I were you. But Iamstill offering to help him. No chains, no tricks. Just… a chance.”
Finn let out a soft, strangled breath, his fingers twitching weakly against my wrist.
Phoenix’s voice gentled. “If you want to keep hating me after this, fine. I won’t blame you. But don’t let him die just to prove you’re right.”
My chest felt like it was caving in. Every part of me wanted to keep fighting, to lash out. But Finn’s pulse was thready. His breath shallow. And that was the only thing that mattered.
I looked down at him—at the boy who had stayed with me when the world fell apart.
Then, back at Phoenix.
“…What do you have to do?” I whispered.
“I have to touch him,” Phoenix said softly, his tone careful. “If that’s okay?”
“Will it hurt him?” I whispered.
Phoenix hesitated. “Yes, but that’s a small price to pay to live, don’t you think?”
I looked down at Finn. His lashes fluttered, his eyes glassy with pain, but he was awake—barely. I cupped his cheek gently, drawing his gaze to mine.
“Is that okay?” I whispered.
“It hurts, Elle…” he whimpered.
“I know.” I said. “Do you want him to fix you?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then, with what little strength he had left, Finn nodded. A faint smile ghosted across his lips. “Ok,” he breathed, and that word broke something in me.
Phoenix moved with surprising grace for someone so tall. He went to his knees before us and reached for Finn, pausing just above his leg like he was asking for permission all over again. When he finally pulled the torn fabric up, I heard his breath catch.
The damage was worse than I’d realized—deep, infected gashes laced with black veins, like poison or rot had begun to take hold. Phoenix swore under his breath. It didn’t sound like anger. It sounded like grief.
“This might take a minute,” he murmured.
He placed his hand over the worst of the wound, fingers glowing faintly with a golden light. As soon as he made contact, Finn screamed—a raw, guttural sound of agony that cut straight through me.
“I’m sorry,” Phoenix said quickly, his jaw tight. “I know it hurts. But I can’t numb it, not and do this right.”
I held Finn tighter, brushing my hand over his hair, whispering nonsense in his ear to keep him anchored. His body trembled, sweat beading on his brow.
Phoenix's magic pulsed, steady and rhythmic. I watched, stunned, as the black veins slowly began to recede beneath his hand. The angry red of the wounds softened, the swelling lessened. The raw edges of torn flesh started to knit back together, slowly but surely.
My breath hitched. I hadn’t seen magic like this before. Not up close. Not this kind.
Phoenix's forehead beaded with sweat, and his hands shook slightly as he worked, like the magic came at a cost.
Still, he didn't stop.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I felt a whisper of hope.
By the time Phoenix finally drew his hand away, Finn had slumped against me, unconscious but breathing easier. His leg, though still bruised and raw, looked nothing like the mangled ruin it had been. The veins had cleared. The swelling was down. The fever was fading.
Phoenix leaned back with a soft groan, his shoulders sagging as though the magic had drained something vital from him. His face was pale, his eyes dull with fatigue. I watched him, unsure what to feel. Grateful? Suspicious? Both tangled together inside me.
“Is he okay?” I asked, my voice rasping from emotion and exhaustion alike.
