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And still he didn’t stop.

Some part of him was screaming now. Not in rage, but in horror. In the sick, distant understanding that he had gone too far and still couldn’t make his hand open.

Not when Bekn’s hands stopped clawing at his wrist. Not when the spasms turned smaller. Not when the body under him went slack.

Somewhere far away, someone was shouting his name.

Ryneth didn’t hear it.

He held on until Bekn’s head fell sideways in the sand and stayed there. Until the body stopped moving. Until the static had nothing left to answer.

Then silence hit him all at once.

It wasn’t true silence. Around him, the crowd was still screaming. The drums were still pounding. But inside him, something dropped out, like the current had finally cut.

Ryneth’s hand slipped from Bekn’s throat.

The body didn’t move. Smoke curled up from the purple fabric. From the skin beneath it.

Ryneth stared. His chest was still heaving, his palm still crackling.

Then a scream cut across the arena, and Theo broke from the gate line where Aviel had left him standing, the loose gold at his throat no real leash at all as he tore onto the sand.

Ryneth’s head snapped up.

Theo was sobbing before he reached them, stumbling, barely breathing. Luminary guards shouted behind him, but he tore free anyway, dropping to his knees beside Bekn’s body so hard the impact threw sand over all three of them.

“Bekn!” Theo’s hands shook as he grabbed at his brother’s shoulders, his face, his prison shirt, as if he could pull him back by force. “Brother, no, no, no⁠—”

Ryneth didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

Theo looked up at him then, and the sound in the arena changed. The last pale threads of static died across Bekn’s prison shirt. Some people in the crowd were still shouting. Others had gone silent.

Theo made a sound Ryneth would hear later in his sleep. Then he bent over Bekn, one hand shaking against his brother’s jaw, the other fisted in the scorched fabric. “No. No, get up. Brother, get up.”

Theo looked too young, kneeling there in the sand.

Ryneth’s fingers twitched. A weak crackle snapped from his palm and died. He stared at it like it belonged to someone else.

Somewhere beyond the blur of the arena, boots hit the sand. Voices cut through the noise. Orders. Shouts. Someone calling Theo’s name. Someone calling his.

Ryneth still couldn’t move. His own hand was still trembling.

He had wanted Bekn dead. He had wanted this over. But standing above the body, with Theo breaking apart at his brother’s side, it didn’t look like justice. It looked like grief.

Luminary guards closed in fast. Two dropped beside Theo, trying to pull him back, but he fought them with a broken sound, clinging to Bekn’s body like he could still stop any of it. Another pair moved for Ryneth more carefully.

“Baby.”

Daven was there before they could touch him, one arm locking around Ryneth’s waist, the other hand sliding to the back of his neck.

And that was it.

Ryneth broke. He turned into Daven with a rough, helpless sound, fists twisting in Daven’s shirt as if he’d drown if he let go.

“You did so good,” Daven murmured, mouth at his temple. “I’ve got you now.”

Ryneth made a broken sound and clung tighter. “Don’t let go.”