Page 34 of Wrong Squad, Right Mess

He walked as though he didn’t even notice it.

“Don’t worry,” Kenyon said, voice having lost that command from earlier. “The wound isn’t that bad and I’ll get him healed up when we stop.”

“Isn’t there a risk of infection or something? Especially since he’s covered in dirt and monster blood?”

“His corruption levels will be higher because of the blood being introduced into his body, but it won’t really hurt him. Plus, his corruption levels are always a bit strange. Another few minutes won’t make any difference.”

I trusted Kenyon’s medical opinion, especially since he knew far more about it than I did, but it still didn’t sit right. Even if he wasn’t going to collapse from it, it had to hurt, right? We were just ignoring his pain and going on like nothing had happened?

It reminded me of after Kenyon had healed Ingram, when Ingram had stumbled, righting himself, as Kenyon had gone to heal Shear. No one had been there to help Ingram walk, despite how horrible he’d felt, how weak.

“This is an esper’s life,” Shear offered, voice surprisingly gentle. He didn’t do gentle, much, and it seemed as though he was trying for my benefit. “We get hurt, we heal enough to keep going, and we do our jobs.”

“It isn’t fair,” I said.

“What about life is ever fair? Trying to work that out will drive a person mad. The truth is that none of us have it all that fair. We’re all just trying to do the best we can. I will assure you that Carter has endured far worse.”

“Maybe, but this time he’s going through it for me.”

“And do you know what that means? You say it as though it is a bad thing, like you think the wound has less value because he got it protecting you. The truth is very different, however. To him, that is a wound he was happy to take, a scar he would wear proudly. He’s been hurt more times than any of us could count, injuries that he hardly remembers, but this one? This one matters because it’s one he got while doing something important to him.”

My eyebrows inched toward each other, the words not making much sense to me. How could it make him happy to be hurt? How could he like the fact that it was my fault?

Shear sighed, then wrapped a hand around my arm. The touch didn’t shock me so much as the world going dark did, only for me to find myself in a familiar place—Carter’s mind.

The twisted circus was something I’d never forget.

Except he didn’t seem to notice us—Shear’s hand was still wrapped around my arm. Instead, Carter walked, light on his feet, no sign of the wound on his back in this form.

A soft sound filled the space, though I couldn’t identify it at first. I thought it was humming, until I focused more closely on the man before me, the one who somehow didn’t see us.

Carter was…singing? And his voice was beyond lovely—deep and compelling. He swayed slightly as he walked, seemingly thrilled. I couldn’t catch the words, but there was no doubt the song was a happy one.

The view disappeared as quickly as it came, as though Shear had given me only the smallest of glimpses. Then again, anything more and Carter would have definitely noticed it.

“We espers have little in the world to call our own, to value, to cherish. Carter has had nothing for his entire life beyond his squad. He’s fought and killed and taken wounds for the whims of others. An esper’s life is pain, but you’ve given that pain a purpose, and that is a special thing for any esper.”

I stared at Carter’s back as we walked, the blood leaking and staining the scraps of shirt that were left, and no matter what Shear said, I had trouble believing it.

I didn’t want anyone to hurt for me, especially not the men I loved.

Then the soft sound of humming drifted back to me. He wasn’t singing anymore, but the tune was the same, and it broke my heart.

Chapter Twenty

Ingram

A shower always helped me feel better. Monster blood disappeared once out of the dungeon, but inside it? No such luck. It turned thick and remained stuck to the skin. Normally I didn’t give a fuck, just considered it part of life for an esper.

The idea of touching Yun when I had this shit all over me, though, that didn’t sit right.

Did that make a gentleman or something?

I grinned at that, like I’d just discovered something about myself I’d never realized before. I would have called myself a lot of shit, but a gentleman?

“You’re not a gentleman because you shower,” Shear whispered in my mind.

“Are you saying gentleman don’t shower?”