And I’m so, so hurt.
I honestly don’t know how to feel.
“You need to go,” Teddie whispers, his gaze fixed on the blanket pooling around his waist.
He’s not wearing a shirt, so I can see how thin he has become, how prominent his ribs look beneath his papery skin.
Caran sucks in a startled breath. “Teddie, please?—”
“Get out!” Teddie screams, his voice cracking with fury and pain. Anger hammers off of him in a palpable wave. “Leave me alone!”
Caran turns to first me and then Teddie, his face a mess of tears and desperation. “Please…forgive me. I never meant…”
“You should be in prison!” Teddie shrieks, his weak body shaking with the force of his anger. Incandescent. Blinding. Consuming. “You're as guilty as he was! You let them do that to Brylee! For what? For a few vials of medicine that barely worked!”
My anger has cooled slightly, replaced by a heavy weariness that settles into my bones.
And pain.
Mostly pain.
“Go to my room, Caran,” I say, my voice soft but firm. “We'll talk more later.”
I’m not sure if I forgive him—not yet—but I also know he’s Teddie’s entire world.
Currently, my twin is glaring at Caran as if he wants to cut his head off his neck.
But later…
Later, once we’ve all had a chance to calm down, Teddie will want to speak to Caran. Work through everything.
And maybe, just maybe, forgive him.
Caran hesitates for a moment, looking from Teddie's furious face to my unreadable expression, then nods slowly. As heleaves, the door closes with a soft click that echoes like a gunshot in the tense silence.
And then Teddie begins to cough.
At first it's just a dry rasp, but quickly it deepens into something wet and painful. His body convulses, and I rush to his side as blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, a bright, terrifying crimson against his pale skin.
“I have a cure,” I whisper, my voice urgent as I pull the small vial from my pocket. “I met with the Noth princes. And… Don’t look at me like that. It’s a long story. They gave me this.”
I quickly recap my meeting, carefully omitting the disturbing details about the virus our mother released. I don’t want to burden him with that knowledge until he’s better.
Please get better.
Please. Please. Please.
I help him sit up and support his frail body as he swallows the medication. His eyes meet mine, a flicker of hope in their depths that nearly breaks my heart.
I watch him, waiting for any sign of improvement, any indication that the medicine is working. But there's nothing. His breathing remains shallow, his skin still pale as death.
Fear coils in my stomach. What if the princes lied? What if this is just another cruel trick?
Fuck, what if this “cure” actually kills Teddie?
I can’t think like that. I’ll go insane if I allow “what-ifs” to run rampant through my head.
It will take time, I tell myself, but the words feel hollow, like echoes in an empty cavern.
