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Mira dumped an armful of wet, blood-soaked towels into a sink of cold, soapy water in the bunker's shower room and watched as the suds turned scarlet.
She should have left when she had the chance.
She should have just run away after hearing what Kellan told her. Back to the Order. Back to her teammates in Montreal. Back home to Niko and Renata.
Anywhere but here.
If what Kellan said was true, that fate would take him from her again - for good, this time - then she would do well to take whatever measures she could to spare herself that kind of hurt. She'd barely survived losing him the first time. How would she be able to bear that kind of pain again?
But she hadn't been able to make her feet take the path that would have led her out the door of Kellan's rebel base.
She couldn't make herself walk away from him, not when she could see that she still meant something to him. He still cared. Some hopeful part of her wanted to believe that he still loved her, even if he refused to admit that to himself or to her.
So, Mira hadn't run.
She'd stayed, taking it upon herself to mop up the blood from Vince's attack, while Kellan, Doc, and Nina were elsewhere in the bunker, ostensibly seeing to rebel business and looking after Chaz's remains once Candice had been stabilized.
Mira plunged her hands into the bloodied water and started washing the towels and rinsing them out. She tried to separate herself from the reality of the task - the knowledge that the blood staining her hands and clothes, running in a scarlet river down the opened drain of the sink, represented a life taken today, and another one narrowly spared. She tried to tell herself that this place, these people who lived and had now died here, were not hers to worry about.
But she was worried.
Worried about Candice, about Doc and Nina, all of whom had lost an old friend and made a new enemy today. She was worried about Jeremy Ackmeyer too, because as frightened as she'd been for him in Kellan's keeping, it was nothing compared to the dread she felt knowing Vince had him now and was obviously willing to kill anyone who stood in his way.
And she was worried about Kellan, of course.
Stricken to her marrow with fear over the vision he'd seen in her eyes on the terrible morning she'd mistakenly believed had been so perfect.
Mira hung her head, running another basin of cold water for the next round of washing.
For what wasn't the first time, she wished she'd been born without her gift. Her cursed ability, which brought anguish to nearly everyone who had the misfortune of glimpsing her unprotected gaze. She'd never known if her eyes would tell her own future too. She'd never had the courage to test it.
Now she wondered if she should try.
Would she see the same thing Kellan did?
Mira submerged a couple more blood-drenched towels into the water and watched as the crystalline liquid turned deep, murky red.
If she stared long enough into her own naked-eyed reflection, could she deplete her gift's power for good? She was tempted to find out, never mind that her eyesight died a little every time she exercised her seer's vision. She didn't care about that. Better she blind herself than risk delivering any more pain to someone else with her terrible ability.
She found her face in the dark water that filled the sink. Pale, weary lavender eyes stared back at her. The pain she felt was stamped all over her, worry bracketing her mouth and bruising the delicate skin beneath her lower lashes.
She heard a strangled moan and didn't realize it was coming from her own throat until the haggard young woman in the bloodred reflection opened her mouth on a sob.
The stained water rippled with her ragged exhalation, shattering her image into a hundred wavering pieces.
It took a few minutes to collect herself, time Mira used to finish the washing. She hung the wet towels on racks that contained other articles of laundered clothing. Another scrub of her hands still didn't remove the stains that rode under her fingernails and deep in her cuticles. For that, she'd need a good soak and plenty of soap.
Later, she promised herself, drying her hands and then stepping outside to the bunker's main corridor. Once she was there, she realized she didn't really know where to go.
She couldn't bring herself to go to Kellan's quarters to sit and wait for him. And she knew it wasn't her place to intrude on discussions or activities taking place between him and his diminished crew. Mira started walking, and soon found herself stepping past Candice's room.
She glanced in only briefly, but it was enough to notice that the young woman was awake, lying in her bed on her back. Her injured leg was bent at the knee and elevated with a mound of pillows and folded blankets, most of which had at some point toppled off to the side. She was trying to reach for them, struggling helplessly.
Mira blew out a sigh and took a reluctant step inside. "Here, let me help you with that."
"Thanks." Candice settled back in a slump, watching as Mira straightened the mess and carefully placed the restored mound under Candice's leg.
Mira glanced up. "How's that?"
