Loud.
Sharp.
Frantic.
Sule looked past Mary.
His mind tried to make the scene something else.
A faint.
A fall.
A complication that could still be fixed if he moved fast enough.
But the floor was stained.
The air was thick with iron, wet metal, and ruin.
The birth medic stood near the bed, her hands bloodstained and hanging uselessly at her sides.
On the floor beside the mattress, Rhen sat with Leena locked against his chest.
It did not make sense.
Not all at once.
Leena’s head rested beneath Rhen’s jaw at an angle that was not sleep. Her skin was unnaturally pale in the firelight. Her white nightgown had turned dark with blood.
Rhen’s hands were covered in it.
His forearms.
His shirt.
Blood everywhere.
Too much of it.
Rhen did not move.
He did not look up.
His arms remained locked around her as though releasing her would split him open.
Something small escaped Sule.
Half breath.
Half sound.
His body tried to form her name and failed.
He stepped into the room anyway.
The warmth of the hearth could not reach him.
Not through the stillness.
