Chapter 12 - Chapter twelve

Author's note: for everyone falling this story, i'm very sorry I haven't updated in like two weeks. I recently started at my dream program at a university out of province for me and that has taken up all of time. I've included an extra long chapter to try and make up for it, but the list of trigger warnings for this one is quite extensive. Not sure what mood i was in when I wrote this but it probably wasn't a good one. Please tread carefully.

*Trigger warnings* situation ship vs, ex boyfriend, non con but not explicit, family drama, mentions of past intimate experiences. Underage drug use, drug overdose (graphic), violence.

he morning is soft.

Light spills through the slats in the shutters, painting pale gold stripes across the bed and the shape curled up beside me. Ardere's hair is a mess of shadow and copper where the sun touches it, fanned out over the pillow we've somehow ended up sharing. Her breathing is slow, deep. Peaceful.

It's one of the only times I've seen her like this.

No tension pulling at her brow. No sharp retort waiting behind her teeth. Just… stillness. Like maybe the storm inside her has finally gone quiet long enough to let her rest.

I let my fingers trace idle, gentle patterns along the small of her back, committing every detail to memory—every breath, every curve, every scar she doesn't hide when it's dark.

And then—

Knock knock knock.

"Dorian?" Tallis's voice, muffled but unmistakable. "You up?"

Ardere jerks awake with a soft gasp, already sitting up, the sheet barely clutched around her. Her eyes are wide. Wild. "Shit," she whispers, scanning the floor for her clothes like a soldier scrambling for cover.

"Dorian, I've got a quick question—can I come in?"

"No!" Ardere hisses under her breath, dragging her shirt halfway over her head and nearly falling off the bed in the process. "God, where's my—where the hell are my pants?"

"Relax." I swing my legs out of bed, stretch, and grab the sweatpants I kicked off hours ago. "He's not going to kill you."

"Easy for you to say."

I slip the pants on slowly, deliberately. Her nail marks still burn across my back, my chest, my ribs. Deep, red, and unmistakable. I don't bother covering them.

I pad to the door, dragging it open with a yawn. "Morning, sunshine."

Tallis raises an eyebrow. "Did I wake you?"

"Not exactly."

He opens his mouth—probably to ask whatever question he came here for—but his eyes drop to my chest. His gaze catches on the long, fresh, very human scratches trailing down my skin. And then it clicks.

I see it in the way his jaw tightens. His eyes flick past me—just barely—toward the bed. Toward the messy sheets. Toward the soft rustle of someone trying too hard not to make a sound.

He blinks. Once. Twice.

I let the silence hang between us for a second longer than necessary. Then I shrug and lean against the doorframe, not bothering to hide my smirk.

"No rules, remember?"

Tallis doesn't back off.

Of course he doesn't.

He just stands there for a moment, jaw ticking, eyes still on the marks I let him see. Then—

"Well," he says coolly, "maybe we should continue this conversation inside."

My smile doesn't slip. Not even a little. "Bit early for a heart-to-heart, isn't it?"

He shrugs like it's nothing. Like we're two old friends. "Something tells me this'll be worth it."

Before I can say no—or even step out to block the door—he brushes right past me into the cabin.

The audacity is biblical.

Behind me, Ardere freezes, half dressed. Her shirt is only on one arm, and she's got one boot in her hand like she's ready to throw it or use it as a weapon if it comes to that.

Tallis notices.

Oh, he notices.

His mouth twitches upward as he scans the room—at her disheveled clothes scattered across the floor, at the blankets half-dragged off the bed, at her standing there like a guilty sin mid-confession. The worst part is, he doesn't look hurt.

He looks vindicated.

Like he was expecting this.

And now he gets to play the long game.

"Morning, Ardere," he says, eyes tracking her like a predator who's just found his way back into the hunt. "Didn't realize we were doing cabin rotations now."

"Tallis," she says, trying—and failing—to sound composed. Her voice cracks anyway. She looks at me, then at him, and says flatly, "Get out."

But he doesn't.

He leans against the edge of my desk, arms folded across his chest like he owns the place. "You know," he muses, "this cabin's not very soundproof. I heard most of last night."

I stiffen. Ardere goes very still.

"But I guess it makes sense," he continues, eyes back on me now. "She always did like making noise when she wanted someone's attention." His voice turns sharp, but the edges are silk-wrapped. "Did she ever tell you about the first time we—"

"Don't," Ardere snaps.

He keeps going.

"We were fifteenth," he says, eyes never leaving mine now. "Out past the perimeter. She was colder than hell, bleeding from the shoulder. Wouldn't let me stitch her up unless I earned it." His gaze flicks to her, then back to me. "She's always had a thing for pain, hasn't she?"

"Tallis." I'm not smiling anymore. My voice is flat. "What do you want?"

His expression flickers—just a moment—and I see the truth underneath the swagger.

He wants her back.

He wants control back.

He wants to remind both of us that he had her first.

That he knew every inch of her before I even knew how deep she ran.

But what he doesn't realize is that I'm not scared of history.

I'm scared of losing her now.

"I want to make sure," he says slowly, "that you know what you're signing up for."

Ardere finally steps forward, her boots half-laced and her hair a tangled halo of fire and sleep. She brushes past me, standing between us like she always does—too loyal to the wrong people, too proud to run.

"You don't get to come in here and piss on the floor like you still own something," she says. Her voice is quiet, but it lands like thunder. "You don't get to weaponize our past every time your pride gets bruised."

Tallis doesn't flinch. "You didn't mind when I was bleeding for you."

"I bled for you too," she growls. "Don't forget that."

The silence that follows is ugly and long.

Tallis doesn't leave. He steps over the threshold like he owns the place—like it's his right to be here—and lets the door click shut behind him. I don't move. Neither does Ardere. She's still standing off to the side, one of my flannels barely hanging off her shoulder, holding it closed like armor.

"So," Tallis starts, the word long and lazy, dragging over the floor like oil, "this is the part where I'm supposed to pretend I didn't already know."

I arch an eyebrow, silent. Let him talk.

Tallis's smile widens, but it's all teeth now. No warmth.

"You think this is a win, Dorian?" he asks, voice syrupy and calm in a way that puts me on edge. "You think scratching her name into your back and letting her sleep in your bed makes you anything more than a rebound?"

I stay silent, my jaw tightening.

"Come on," he says, and this time it's directed at Ardere. "Tell him. Tell him how you used to beg for me. How you'd leave bite marks down my chest and sob when I'd pull you apart. How no one—no one—ever got you the way I did."

I hear her breath hitch behind me.

Tallis doesn't stop. He pulls the collar of his shirt aside, showing the faint crescent-shaped scar on the inside of his shoulder. I've seen that scar before—but I didn't know what it meant. Not until now.

"She gave me this," he says, looking directly at me. "Said she wanted to mark me. So I'd always know I was hers. That sound familiar, Dorian?"

My hands ball into fists at my sides, but I still don't move. He wants a reaction. He wants a fight.

He steps closer, invading my space like he's testing the air between us. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" he murmurs. "Or are you starting to realize that last night? That was charity. A little walk down memory lane for her. A novelty for you."

Ardere flinches like he struck her.

That's when I speak.

"You done?" I ask, my voice low, calm—too calm.

Tallis blinks, then tilts his head. "Not even close."

He lifts his shirt next, exposing the ink on his ribs, the one with her initials threaded into something that looks far too permanent. "She designed this," he says. "Wanted to make sure I remembered who I belonged to, even when we were apart."

He looks back at Ardere again. "How long did it take, Red? An hour? Two? Before you forgot all that? Before you let him touch you like that ink meant nothing?"

Ardere stares at the floor, frozen, lips parted like she's trying to find breath.

I can feel the air shift. The hurt in her. The shame Tallis is stitching into her with every word.

And that's what breaks my silence.

I move, just one step, enough to put myself between them again.

"You came here to prove you still have a hold on her," I say, my voice steady, sharp. "But all I see is a man clinging to the past because he knows he lost the present."

Tallis's jaw tightens.

"She's not yours," I go on. "Not last night. Not now. You can throw every scar and memory in my face, and it won't change the fact that she came here. To me."

He laughs. It's ugly. Bitter. "She came here because she was drunk and nostalgic."

"She stayed," I snap. "That wasn't nostalgia. That was choice."

The smile vanishes from his face. For a long second, none of us speak. Then Tallis glances at Ardere again—and this time, it's quieter. More dangerous.

"Be careful who you let hold you, Red," he murmurs. "You know how fragile you get. How easy it is for you to mistake safety for love."

I could see her body tense the moment Tallis's hand moved to undo the first button of his shirt.

"Don't—" Ardere warned.

But Tallis just looked right at me, like she hadn't even spoken. "Since we're comparing notes."

He peeled the fabric open, slow. He didn't have to say anything. The marks spoke for him—deep scratches, faded teeth marks, bruises that had already begun to yellow. Fresh ones too. Messy and deliberate. Not like ours.

He looked smug. "She always did like to leave her signature. Even back then."

I didn't look at Ardere. I didn't want to see her reaction—didn't want to see what part of her he still had his claws in. But I could feel the shift in her breath beside me, that sharp, broken inhale.

Tallis went on, voice as calm as if he were discussing the weather. "I used to call it her love language. Pain and chaos. Some things don't change."

That was when Ardere moved.

It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't even loud. She just stepped forward and hit him. Fist to jaw. Sharp and fast.

The sound cracked like firewood snapping, and Tallis's head whipped to the side.

He didn't hit her back.

He caught her wrist instead—too fast—and twisted her arm behind her back, pulling her against his chest in one smooth, practiced movement.

I moved on him instantly.

"Let go of her."

"Relax," Tallis said, his grip like iron. "She's fine. This isn't new for her."

He looked right at me, so calm it burned. "You think she's just passionate? That this intensity is yours? She used to throw punches every other day when we were together. Usually after saying she hated me. Right before crawling into my bed."

"Let her go," I repeated, louder this time.

"She does this when she panics," he said, like he was reciting a fucking manual. "When she doesn't feel in control, she lashes out. The trick is not to let her. Not even for a second."

"Let her go, Tallis."

But he just looked at me, calm and cold, like I wasn't even a threat. "You think you're helping her when you go soft. When you whisper to her. When you let her make all the rules. But that's not what she needs. She needs someone who can take it. Who won't flinch when she breaks skin."

Ardere squirmed in his grip, but not like she used to. This wasn't a fight. This was her trying not to shatter.

"I said let her go."

"She'll settle down in a second," Tallis said, voice low near her ear. "Won't you, baby?"

Her breath hitched.

He pressed his lips to the side of her neck, just beneath her ear, and whispered something too low for me to hear.

Ardere froze.

Just—froze. The fight drained from her like someone had flipped a switch.

Tallis tightened his hold for half a second more, then slowly eased off her wrist and turned her toward him. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his voice low and coaxing now. "There we go. That's my girl. Just breathe."

She looked like she was trying not to. Like if she started breathing, she might cry instead.

I didn't move.

Because what the hell was I watching?

Whatever he said—whatever he did—worked. Too well. Her hands were still clenched, but her shoulders were slumped, trembling in that way that meant she was breaking inside. And he knew. He knew exactly where to touch, what to say, how to break her down and mold her quiet again.

Tallis looked over his shoulder at me, calm as hell. "She does this when she spirals. Has since she was fiftteen. You can't fight it with soft words. She needs to feel something grounded. Familiar."

I clenched my fists. "Let her go."

"I already did," he said. And technically, he had. But she hadn't moved.

"See," he continued, like he was teaching me something, "she doesn't calm down from affection. She calms down from control. That's what no one ever understands about her. That's what made us work."

His words stuck in my ribs like thorns, but the worst part?

The worst part was watching her not argue with him.

I looked at Ardere—really looked at her—and something in her eyes... recognized it. That touch. That whisper. That hold.

I should've moved. I should've gone to her. Should've pulled her away and told her everything he said was bullshit.

But I didn't. I just stood there, watching her shoulders rise and fall like she was holding herself together with a single thread of breath. Watching the way she didn't flinch when he reached to tuck her hair behind her ear again. She didn't lean into it—but she didn't pull away either.

She always pulled away.

Tallis turned back to me and—God help me—smiled. Not wide. Not smug. Just enough to make me feel like I'd already lost.

"You see it now, don't you?" he said, softly. "You've been trying so hard to keep her safe you forgot she doesn't know what safety feels like. She only responds to what's familiar. And unfortunately for you…" He glanced down at Ardere again, still shaking slightly but rooted to the floor like his words had chained her in place. "I'm familiar."

I stepped forward. My hands were trembling.

"Don't," Tallis warned gently, like I was a stray dog he didn't want to kick. "Not in front of her. You don't want her thinking you're trying to compete."

"I'm not," I ground out. "I'm trying to protect her."

His head tilted. "From me?" His voice dropped. "Dorian, she crawled into my bed every time she had a nightmare for two years. You think she didn't know what I was back then? She chose me anyway. That's the part you don't understand. She's not afraid of the fire. She is the fire. And deep down, she knows I'm the only one who didn't try to put it out."

Ardere made a soft sound behind him—barely a breath. I moved to step around him to get to her.

Tallis blocked me without even looking. "She's coming down. Don't rush it."

"Don't you dare act like this is about her," I growled. "You're just pissed I didn't fall in line. That she didn't."

He finally turned to me, the smile gone now. "I'm pissed," he said evenly, "because I spent years teaching her how to survive, and you're undoing it every time you tell her she doesn't have to be that person anymore."

His words hit like a slap. "Maybe she doesn't."

"Maybe she doesn't," he agreed. "But if she breaks, if she spirals again—are you going to be the one who knows how to hold her together? Or are you just going to tell her it's okay to fall apart?"

Behind him, Ardere turned—slowly, carefully. Her eyes were wide, a storm gathering behind them, but her mouth was drawn tight like she couldn't let it out. Couldn't afford to.

"I need to lie down," she murmured.

"I'll help you," I said.

But it was Tallis she looked at first.

Only for a second. A flicker.

But I saw it. And he saw me see it.

He stepped aside like he'd planned it all along. Like he'd given me back something that was never mine to keep.

"Your move," he said, quiet.

And then he walked out.

Leaving silence in his wake that felt like a wound.

I turned to Ardere slowly. She wasn't crying. She was just… hollow. Like she'd had something torn out of her and wasn't sure what was left behind.

I reached for her hand.

She let me hold it.

But she didn't squeeze back.

***

The curtains are drawn. The lamp's on, dull and gold, washing everything in warmth that doesn't touch either of us.

Ardere sits on the edge of the bed, hair loose, fingers trembling as she fumbles through the folds of her coat. Not looking at me.

I'm still standing. I don't know why. There's a chair. There's the floor. There's the bed. I just can't seem to lower myself into any of it.

She finds it tucked in the lining near the pocket. Slim glass pipe. Pale pink powder already packed. Like Tallis knew she wouldn't resist forever.

Like he planned for her to need it.

She doesn't ask if it's okay. She doesn't offer to explain. She just lights it with shaking fingers and takes a long inhale like her lungs forgot what air was supposed to be.

Then exhales.

Slow. Shuddering.

She doesn't cough.

She's done this before.

I finally sit down on the bed beside her, close but not touching. The sweet chemical scent lingers in the space between us. It smells like flowers rotting in the sun. Like something meant to be beautiful that went too long without care.

"You don't have to do that," I say softly.

She stares forward. Her pupils already widening, her body relaxing one inch at a time like someone unclenching her from the inside out.

"I know," she says.

I wait for her to say something else. She doesn't.

Instead, she leans back on her elbows and takes another hit.

The silence between us grows like mold.

"What does it do?" I ask. "Exactly."

Her voice is flat, but not unkind. "Slows everything down. Makes the sharp things feel… dull."

"Is that what you want?"

She doesn't answer for a long time. Then: "It's better than screaming."

I look at her. Really look at her. The quiet way she drapes her arm over her eyes after the next hit. The flutter of her lashes, heavy with the high. The way her body sinks into the mattress like she's finally safe now that she can't feel anything.

I hate how beautiful she looks like this.

I hate that I let Tallis hand this to her.

I hate that I'm here, and she's slipping through my fingers anyway.

"You said you didn't want to be like him," I say.

"I don't."

"Then why are you doing the one thing he wanted you to do?"

She flinches.

Just a little.

But it's there.

I want to take it back, but I can't.

"I just needed one second," she whispers. "One second of quiet. Just… one."

"You think he gave it to you for your sake?" I ask. "He wants you numb. He likes you like this. You think that's love?"

She pulls her arm from over her eyes and turns her face to me. Her pupils are so blown her eyes look black. But there's still a glint of something sharp under the surface.

"You think this is about love?" she asks, low and bitter. "It's about surviving, Dorian. Something you still don't get."

"I do get it," I snap. "I just don't think surviving has to look like—like this."

"Then you're lucky," she says. "Because for me, this is the only thing that works right now."

The pipe rests between her fingers like a delicate little lifeline.

I hate it.

But I don't take it away from her.

Because I don't know if I'd be doing it for her sake or mine.

I want to throw it all in the sink. I want to snap it in half and shake her and scream you're stronger than this.

But I won't.

Because she wouldn't hear it. Not from me.

Maybe not even from anyone.

Except…

There's one person.

One person who might still have the right kind of voice, the right kind of history, the kind of blood-thread that cuts deep enough to matter.

Lysander.

I haven't seen him since the last time he and Ardere nearly tore each other apart in front of everyone. But even that was better than this. Because at least then she was fighting.

Now?

Now she's just gone quiet in the worst way.

I move fast. Past cracked wallpaper and busted light fixtures, the cheap hotel kind of place Tallis likes to keep us holed up in between moves. I pass Riven sitting on a washer machine somewhere in the back, a cigarette hanging from his lips, watching me like he already knows where I'm going.

He doesn't say anything. He never does when it counts.

Lysander's cabin is two cabins over from mine. Near the back. I knock once, hard.

Nothing.

Again, louder.

Still nothing.

I hesitate. Then knock a third time, more like a pound.

Finally, I hear movement. Slow. Heavy.

The door opens a crack.

Lysander blinks at me like he was dragged up from the bottom of a river.

"What."

"She's using," I say, without preamble.

He stares at me.

"I don't care," he mutters, starting to close the door. "I'm not allowed in this part of her life. Don't you remember?"

I stop it with my foot.

"She's using what Tallis gave her," I say. "She's high right now, and I don't know how far she's planning to go, but she's spiraling fast. You know what that means."

"She's always spiraling," he says flatly.

"This is different."

He doesn't speak. Just looks at me. A flicker of something crosses his face. I can't name it.

"I'm not asking you to save her," I say, low. "I'm asking you to talk to your sister. Because she's not listening to anyone else. Not even me. Not anymore."

Lysander's hand tightens on the doorknob. His jaw works for a second. I think he might slam it shut anyway.

But then he lets out a long, hard sigh and pulls the door open all the way.

"I swear to God," he mutters, rubbing his face. "If she's covered in blood again, I'm walking right back out."

"She's not," I say. "She just looks… small."

That makes him pause.

And for the first time, I think he actually hears me.

He steps back into the room to grab his coat and keys.

Doesn't ask if I'm coming with him.

Doesn't say thank you.

Just walks.

And I follow.

I regretted it the second I opened the door and let Lysander in.

Not because I didn't think Ardere needed him—she did. She needed someone she couldn't shove away or seduce into silence. But the look in his eyes when he stepped into the room, the way his jaw flexed before he even saw her, told me he wasn't here to save her gently.

He was here for war.

I heard her before she even saw him. Slurring something under her breath, still curled up near the window with that paper stick burning low between her fingers. Her legs tucked against her chest like she was trying to disappear into herself.

The moment her eyes lifted and landed on her brother, she flinched.

"You didn't," she spat, snapping her head toward me. "You told him? You actually told him?"

"Ardere—" I started.

"Unbelievable!" She shot up, nearly stumbling over the rug. "You went running to my brother like some pathetic little snitch? What the hell is wrong with you, Dorian?"

"I didn't know what else to do!" I snapped. "You won't listen to me. You barely even see me anymore unless you're high or haunted."

"Oh, so you're the victim now? Poor Dorian, stuck with the broken girl—"

"Enough," Lysander said.

She turned to him like a fireball in human skin. "You don't get to do this."

"The hell I don't." He stormed toward her. "You think I care if you're pissed? If you hate me? You're killing yourself."

"I'm fine," she hissed, her voice shaking. "You don't know anything—"

"I know you," he barked. "I know exactly what this looks like. I've watched you claw your way back from the edge before, and now you're diving headfirst like you want to drown."

"You think you're better than me?" she shrieked. "You left! You weren't there when I needed you!"

"Because you pushed everyone away!" Lysander's voice cracked through the air like thunder. "You shoved me out, you let that bastard twist your head up, and now you're lying to everyone—including yourself."

"You want to play savior?" she said, her hands already twitching. "You want the whole story?"

Lysander raised an eyebrow, but didn't speak. Not yet.

She turned her head toward me, like it physically hurt her to look. "Why don't you ask Dorian what we were doing in his bed last night?"

My mouth went dry. "Ardere—"

"No, no, don't backpedal now," she snapped, her voice cracking into a laugh. "He wants to act so noble, like he's here to help—but he didn't seem too concerned about my 'spiral' when he had his hands on my hips."

The silence hit hard. Even the wind outside seemed to freeze.

Lysander turned to me. Slowly. Methodically. His eyes didn't flash with rage, not yet—but something worse flickered there.

Cold calculation.

I opened my mouth to explain, to defend, to say it wasn't what she was making it sound like, but I knew how it sounded. Knew how it looked. And it didn't matter if I'd stayed awake next to her after she passed out. Didn't matter if I'd tried to keep my hands to myself, even when she hadn't.

"I didn't—" I started, but it came out weak, pathetic.

"She wanted comfort," I said, louder. "You weren't here. No one was. I didn't take advantage—"

"She was high, Dorian," Lysander said, his voice like the quiet hum of an incoming storm. "She's been high for days."

"I know," I shot back, guilt already digging under my ribs like knives. "You think I don't? You think I'm proud of any of this?"

Ardere crossed her arms, smirking like she'd finally pulled the pin on the grenade.

But Lysander didn't explode.

Instead, he turned to her. Calm. Deadly.

"That's rich," he said. "Coming from the girl still letting Tallis crawl into her bed whenever he feels like it."

Her expression cracked.

"What?" she breathed.

"Oh, come on," he scoffed. "You thought he was subtle? That bastard's been strutting around like he's got a claim on you. Like he won some sick prize."

Her face contorted. Shame? Fury? I couldn't tell.

"You don't get to judge me," she said, her voice thin.

"Watch me," Lysander snarled. "You want to weaponize Dorian to make me feel something? Fine. But at least he cares. At least he stays. Tallis wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire."

"Shut up!" she screamed, covering her ears, like the words themselves could poison her.

But Lysander wasn't finished.

"You think I didn't see the bruises?" he growled. "The ones you keep brushing off, the ones no one's allowed to ask about? You think this is you in control, making your own choices?"

His voice broke.

"This isn't you. This is what's left of you after he hollowed you out."

Ardere didn't scream again. She didn't cry.

She just folded. Shoulders caving in. Jaw trembling.

And I stood there, useless.

Because she hated me now. Lysander probably would too by morning. But none of that mattered.

What mattered was that everything we'd been trying to outrun had finally caught up.

And there was no going back.

For a second, no one moved.

Ardere stared at the floor like it might swallow her. Lysander's jaw clenched like he was grinding glass between his teeth. And me? I just stood there, watching everything collapse like I hadn't been part of the wrecking crew.

Then Lysander moved.

He brushed past me, cold and deliberate, heading straight for her bag.

"Don't," Ardere said weakly, but she didn't stop him.

Didn't even look up.

He unzipped it and dumped it out on the floor. Bottles, crumpled packets, pill cases, a crushed pen with burn marks. It hit the wood like a confession.

Ardere flinched like it was her bones scattering.

Lysander knelt and grabbed a half-full bottle of something I didn't recognize. He poured it down the drain in the bathroom sink. One by one, every pill and vial and leftover piece of whatever the hell Tallis had fed her went down with it. No ceremony. No sympathy.

Just rage.

By the time he was done, Ardere had curled up on the bed, facing the wall. Silent.

Lysander didn't say another word. He walked out, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the mirror.

I hesitated. My heart was a live wire in my chest. I looked back at her—motionless, spine trembling beneath her hoodie—and then I followed him.

I caught up at the end of the hall.

"Lysander—"

I didn't even get the sentence out.

His fist slammed into my gut—lower. Way lower.

Pain shot through me like a lit match dropped into gasoline. I dropped like a stone, a choked-off gasp clawing at my throat as I folded over myself.

Lysander didn't even flinch.

He stood there, towering over me, eyes full of something worse than hate: disappointment.

"Don't thank me," he said, voice flat. "She's just gonna get more from Tallis anyway."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

He leaned down, close enough for me to smell the sweat on his collar.

"And if you ever touch her again—if you so much as think about getting her high or getting her into your bed—I'll snap every single finger on your hands so you can't lay them on anything but a hospital tray."

Then he turned and walked away.

And I just stayed there.

Choking on air, shame, and the cold truth he left behind.

****

I wasn't sure what hurt more—my pride, my groin, or the fact that Riven wouldn't stop laughing.

I was curled up on my side, knees pulled to my chest on the narrow excuse for a bed they'd stuck me in, still trying to breathe like a normal human being. Every movement sent fresh pain slicing through my stomach. My voice was raw, like I'd coughed up gravel trying to explain myself one too many times.

Across from me, Riven was lounging like this was a damn spa retreat. One boot on the floor, one on the wall, hands behind his head, a lazy smirk stretched across his face.

"So," he said, popping the word like a cork. "Just to recap—again, because this never stops being funny—you finally get Ardere alone, you sleep with her, and instead of keeping your mouth shut or maybe, I don't know, not treating her like a rehab case right after, you go and narc to her brother. Who then tries to neuter you."

I groaned and turned my face into the pillow.

"That's… not what happened."

"Right, sorry. You didn't narc, you emotionally panicked and ran to the one person on earth more unhinged than her. My mistake."

"Riven…"

"And let's not forget the part where she threw you to the wolves by telling Lysander about last night on purpose. God, I wish I had been there. The look on your face must've been—what's the word—ah, yes. Terrified."

"I wasn't terrified," I muttered.

"You were white as a ghost when you came in here. You looked like you just saw your own death. Which, to be fair, you probably did."

He chuckled again, a low, unbothered sound that made me want to throw something at him. Except I couldn't move without groaning in pain.

"I gave you that shot, Dorian," he said, dramatically placing a hand over his chest. "I cleared the field, told Tallis to take a hike, gave you the golden opportunity. And what do you do? You get her into bed and then follow it up with a heartfelt betrayal and a near-death experience."

He whistled. "You blew it so hard I'm almost impressed."

I finally sat up, wincing like an old man. "I didn't mean to tell Lysander anything. I thought maybe—hell, I don't know—I thought he could reach her."

Riven raised an eyebrow. "You thought Lysander, the human thunderstorm, was gonna have a heart-to-heart with his trainwreck of a sister? You really don't understand how any of us work, do you?"

I said nothing. Because he was right. And because it still felt like Lysander's fist was lodged somewhere between my stomach and soul.

Riven leaned forward, elbows on knees, grin still wide.

"Well, the good news is, you're officially off the hook."

I blinked. "What?"

"She hates you now," Riven said cheerfully. "Which means you're not her problem anymore. Tallis'll come crawling back in soon, probably with a new stash and some bleeding-heart apology, and boom—triangle complete again. Congratulations. You're free."

My chest clenched.

That was never what I wanted.

"Of course," Riven added, standing up and stretching, "if you really wanted to fix this, you'd do something insane. Like tell her how you actually feel. But hey—what do I know? I'm just the guy who keeps bailing your ass out. Next time you wanna impress a girl, maybe don't get drop-kicked by her brother immediately afterward."

He leaned against the wall like he had nowhere better to be, arms crossed, watching me with that sharp little grin that meant nothing good was about to come out of his mouth.

He tilted his head. "So... what do you think she's doing right now?"

I didn't answer.

"Sleeping, maybe?" he mused, pretending to think it over. "Or maybe she's curled up in Tallis's lap again, letting him light a pipe for her. They always were cozy like that."

I looked up sharply, a muscle ticking in my jaw. "Don't."

"What?" Riven said innocently, brows raised. "I'm just saying. The second things get too real, she runs. And Tallis is safe, right? He never asks for more than she's willing to give. Never judges. Never tries to fix her."

"I wasn't trying to fix her," I snapped.

He smiled. "Sure you weren't."

My chest ached in a way the punch hadn't caused.

"Maybe she's high already," Riven continued, ignoring me completely. "Sitting out on that crumbling rooftop she likes. Kissing Tallis like last night didn't even happen. Like you didn't happen."

"Shut up, Riven."

"I mean, it wouldn't be the first time she disappeared back into his arms after setting fire to someone else. It's kind of her whole thing, isn't it?"

"I said shut up."

But he didn't. He just leaned down, voice lower, almost conversational.

"She gave you a moment, Dorian. A rare, unrepeatable one. And you pissed on it. Told the one person she's actually afraid of about it, and now she's probably punishing you in the only way she knows how."

His smirk faded into something sharper, darker.

"By pretending it meant nothing."

I looked away, gripping the edge of the mattress so tight my knuckles cracked.

"She hates me," I whispered.

Riven shrugged. "Probably."

Then he clapped his hands once like he'd just wrapped up a particularly satisfying performance.

"Well," he said, straightening. "This has been fun. Let me know when you want to cry about it some more. I'll bring popcorn next time."

He headed toward the door again, and for a second I thought maybe—maybe—he'd leave me alone this time.

But then he paused at the threshold.

"Oh—and for what it's worth?" he added, voice almost too casual.

"If Tallis is smart, he'll keep her high for the next few days. Keeps her from remembering how it felt to fall asleep in your arms."

And then he left.

And I let him.

Because I didn't have the strength to chase after him.

Or the nerve to prove him wrong.

It took me longer than I want to admit to stand up straight again.

Every time I moved, the echo of Lysander's punch flared in my gut like a hot knife, a reminder of just how far things had gone sideways. But the physical pain didn't even register next to the one in my chest. That ache was sharper. Meaner. Less likely to fade.

I didn't knock on her door.

I just… opened it.

I had rehearsed everything I was going to say. Apologies, explanations, hell—even some begging if that's what it took. I didn't care about pride anymore. I just wanted to fix it. Whatever "it" even was.

But none of the words mattered the second I stepped inside.

Because there she was.

On the floor.

Half draped across Tallis's lap.

Eyes glazed. Lips parted. Barely conscious.

His hand was cupped behind her neck, gently stroking her hair. There was a haze in the room—smoke and something else. Something sweeter. Rotten. Her arms were marked, fresh tracks still blooming angry and red.

Her shirt was slipping off her shoulder.

Tallis didn't look surprised to see me. If anything, he looked bored.

"She asked for it," he said flatly, not even bothering to move. "You think I forced this?"

My mouth opened, but I didn't know what sound came out.

Ardere didn't even blink. She just murmured something under her breath and leaned heavier into him, eyes fluttering like she was trying to wake up—but didn't want to.

"No," I said. I think. "No, this—this isn't you, Ardere—"

She didn't respond.

Just a tired sigh from her lips, too slow to be real sleep, too disconnected to be anything close to sober.

Tallis brushed hair from her face, all tenderness and poison. "You missed your window, man."

"I need to talk to her," I said, stepping closer. "Let me—"

He lifted his eyes to me, calm and cold. "She doesn't want to talk to you. Not tonight."

I looked down at her again.

The way her body had gone soft in his arms.

The way she didn't even know I was there.

The worst part wasn't seeing her like this.

The worst part was realizing she chose it.

Maybe not consciously. Maybe not with clarity.

But she wanted the quiet Tallis offered more than she wanted my noise. My chaos. My honesty.

Maybe Riven was right.

Maybe the real punishment was pretending last night didn't happen.

And if it didn't matter to her—

Then maybe I never did.

I didn't move.

I couldn't.

Not when she was like this. Not when he was the one holding her. Feeding her another high like she hadn't already slipped halfway out of herself.

"You need to leave," I said, voice raw.

Tallis didn't even flinch. He shifted against the wall, one leg stretched out like he had nowhere better to be. Like this was just another night for him. Another girl. Another fix.

"Then go," he said, almost kindly. "No one's stopping you."

I clenched my jaw. "I meant you."

He tilted his head like I was the punchline to a joke he'd heard before. "Why would I leave? Ardere wants me here. She asked for this. Or did you think she tripped and landed mouth-first on the blunt?"

I stared at her—how her fingers twitched like she couldn't remember they were attached to her. How her mouth was slack but open, waiting for another hit like it was instinct. She was barely upright. Barely present.

"She's too high to know who the hell she's even looking at," I snapped.

Tallis raised his brows, amused. "And yet, somehow, not too high to reach for me when she wanted more." He held up the blunt between his fingers, the smoke curling like a lazy snake. Then, without breaking eye contact with me, he leaned in toward her.

"Ardie, sweet girl," he murmured, brushing his fingers along her cheek, "open up for me."

And she did.

Like she didn't hear me. Like I wasn't standing three feet away, watching her float somewhere too far to reach.

Her lips closed around the paper, and he helped her pull in a slow drag. She choked a little, coughed—but she still leaned against him like he was home and I was the storm that ruined it.

That's when I stepped forward. "You do that again, and I swear to god—"

"You'll what?" Tallis cut in, voice low and calm, but sharp like glass. "Punch me like her brother did you? You'll bleed all over the floor while she sleeps through it?"

"You think I'm scared of you?"

"No," he said, smiling faintly. "I think you're scared of the fact that she picked me."

The room went quiet except for the low static buzz of nothing. Ardere gave a soft sound—half sigh, half whimper—and shifted in Tallis's arms.

"She's not choosing," I spat. "She's numb. She's not even here."

Tallis leaned back, draping an arm around her shoulder like a crown. "And still, she's not with you."

My fists curled.

"She trusted you once," I growled. "You destroyed that. You used her when she was broken and bleeding, and now you're doing it again."

He didn't deny it. Just tilted his head, thoughtful.

"You're right," he said. "She was bleeding. And you know what she asked for? Not a lecture. Not a rescue. Just silence. Just a way to shut it all out. And I gave her that."

I stepped closer. "If I ever see you touch her like that again, I'll make sure you can't use your hands for anything except praying I don't finish the job."

His smirk never wavered. "And if you ever try to 'rescue' her again without knowing what she actually wants, I'll make sure she sees you for exactly what you are—a boy who needs her to be broken so he can feel important."

I didn't know when my hands stopped shaking.

I only knew I wasn't leaving.

Not yet.

Not until I got her to open her eyes and see who the hell was holding the match to her soul.

"Ardere," I tried again, kneeling in front of her.

Her eyes didn't focus, but they blinked like she was trying. That was something. That meant she was still in there—somewhere.

"Hey. Come back to me." My voice cracked. "Please."

She blinked again. Her lips parted like she meant to say something, but only a breath came out.

I reached for her hand. Cold. Clammy.

"You remember me?" I asked softly, fingers threading through hers. "C'mon, baby, you remember. You remember the note, the stars, the night in the woods? The wolf you gave me?"

A twitch at the corner of her mouth.

It wasn't a smile. Not really.

But I almost let myself believe it was.

"She's not listening," Tallis said lazily behind her.

I ignored him. I leaned closer, forehead to hers. "You said you'd try. You promised me. So try now. Please, Ard. Just come back for one goddamn second and tell me you hear me."

She let out a breath. It hitched halfway through like her lungs didn't know what they were doing anymore. Her head lulled toward me, but it didn't stay. It slipped back, resting on Tallis's shoulder.

She didn't move again.

I felt her hand go limp in mine.

Then I heard it—the flick of a lighter.

I turned.

Tallis held the blunt to his own lips this time, and took a slow drag.

He didn't look at me.

He just leaned in.

And blew the smoke straight into her mouth.

I snapped.

"You sick bastard—!"

I lunged.

Didn't think. Didn't care.

I grabbed Tallis by the collar and slammed him into the wall, hard enough to rattle the cracked picture frame behind him. Something glass fell and shattered. He didn't even flinch.

"You want to be brave?" he rasped, eyes glittering. "Then hit me. Go ahead. Show her how gentle you really are."

My fist cocked back.

But Ardere gave a sound—weak and panicked, a tiny gasp between us—and I froze.

Her eyes rolled and fluttered, and for a second, I thought she was choking.

I let go of Tallis so fast he staggered.

"She's not breathing right," I said, trying to lift her upright.

Tallis caught her before I could. Cradled her like he was the answer to a prayer I never made.

"She'll be fine," he said, brushing her hair from her face. "She just needs to ride it out."

"You don't care if she's fine," I snarled.

He looked up. "And you do?"

"She's the only thing I care about."

That caught him.

For a second, something sharp passed behind his expression.

Then it was gone.

And he smiled like he'd already won.

"You care so much," he whispered, "and she still ran straight into my arms the second she had the chance. What does that tell you?"

I didn't answer.

She slumped heavier against Tallis's chest. Her legs had given out completely, and he didn't even seem to notice. He just held her like a doll, eyes half-lidded with that smug, slow grin that made my blood boil.

Then he said it.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just casually, like he was talking about the weather.

"She was shivering earlier," he said, stroking her side. "So I helped her get warm. You know how she is… always freezing when she comes down."

I stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

He didn't look at me.

"She didn't say no."

The world dropped out from under me.

There was no way. He didn't just say that. He couldn't have.

"She couldn't even talk," I said through gritted teeth. "You think that counts as consent?"

"She reached for me first," he said simply, dragging another hit from what was left of the blunt. "Or maybe she was just reaching for something warm. You know how messy it gets, right? When they can't tell the difference."

He blew the smoke straight at me.

Like it was a joke.

Like he wanted me to break.

So I did.

My fist connected with his jaw so hard it echoed. The crack of it rang in my bones. He staggered but didn't fall—he was fast, and worse, ready.

"Finally," he growled, spitting blood. "I've been waiting."

The next blow came from him, a sharp jab to my ribs that sent a jolt of pain through my side. But I didn't feel it. I was too far gone.

We crashed into the nightstand, knocking it clean over. The lamp exploded as it hit the floor. I tackled him, fists flying, but Tallis fought like a snake—slippery, precise. He got a grip in my hair, yanked my head back, and slammed his elbow into my nose.

Everything blurred.

But I kept swinging.

For Ardere.

For what he did.

For what he said.

"You don't get to touch her!" I roared, landing blow after blow as we crashed into the floor, half on top of broken glass and half on top of each other.

Tallis's laughter was wet and low. "You think you're saving her? You think she didn't want to forget everything for a while?"

I shoved him again. This time he hit the dresser. Hard. A picture frame cracked on impact and clattered to the floor.

"She reached for you because she craves touch—any touch!" I screamed, voice tearing up my throat. "You think that means anything?! You think that makes it okay?!"

Tallis straightened with a wince, rubbing his jaw. He had a split lip and a gash over his cheekbone. Blood smeared his teeth when he smiled.

"She needed comfort," he said, calm as ever. "That's exactly what I gave her."

"You're disgusting."

He tilted his head. "I'm honest."

"You're a predator."

"I'm a mirror. Don't hate me for what she sees in me."

I lunged again. Fist to stomach. Elbow to face. I was done listening. But even as he stumbled back, he kept laughing—like this was all just fun to him.

"You weren't here," he spat between hits. "You were off playing knight in shining guilt while she was breaking. I held her together. I kept her together."

"You used her," I growled, pinning him to the wall, my forearm across his throat.

"She begged for it."

I slammed him harder.

"She couldn't speak. You think lying limp in your lap counts as begging?"

"She moaned."

I saw red.

I don't remember swinging. Just the thud of my knuckles against bone. His head snapped sideways, blood arcing from his mouth.

"She's not yours," I hissed. "She's not a goddamn toy you break and pass around like a joint."

Tallis wiped his mouth, spitting blood onto the floor.

"She's not yours either," he said, low. "You think that just because you love her, she belongs to you? That's not how this works, Dorian. She chooses what she needs. And tonight, it wasn't you."

Behind us, Ardere let out a small, wrecked sound. Like the start of a sob that never quite formed.

I looked at her.

Her eyes were barely open. Skin pale and damp with sweat. She was watching us—sort of. Drifting in and out of whatever Tallis gave her.

"Did you even ask her?" I snapped. "Or did you just assume that since she leaned into your hand, she wanted your whole goddamn body?"

Tallis looked at her too—just for a second. Then back at me.

"She didn't say stop."

"She couldn't say anything."

He grinned, slow and smug.

"Exactly."

I lost it.

I threw him across the room. He hit the floor hard, skidding against the carpet, knocking over the ashtray with a shower of sparks. The blunt, still burning, landed in the folds of a blanket near Ardere's knee.

I stomped it out before it could catch fire, heart hammering in my throat.

"Don't you dare touch her again," I said, pointing straight at him. "You don't deserve to be anywhere near her."

Tallis sat up, blood dripping from his mouth, his breathing heavy but steady.

"She'll come back to me," he said, eyes dark. "Because I don't make her choose. I just let her be. You? You keep trying to make her something clean."

He spit on the floor between us.

"You want her to be better. I just want her."

I stood there, shaking. Every part of me wanted to kill him. End him. But I couldn't—not with her sitting there. Not with her still so far gone she didn't even flinch when I screamed.

She didn't even look like she was inside her body anymore.

Her lips were pale. Not just pale—gray. Her arms trembled where they hugged her knees. Sweat soaked her hairline, but her skin felt ice-cold when I touched her shoulder.

"Ardere?" I whispered, leaning in.

She didn't answer. Her eyes were half-lidded, blinking slow, like her brain was buffering every second behind her pulse. Her breath caught like it had to climb over glass to get out. Shallow. Off rhythm.

"Hey. Hey," I cupped her face, panicked now. "Can you hear me? Look at me, please—look at me."

She did. For a second.

And then her body jolted.

Her arms flew out like something invisible had just slammed into her gut. She gagged, hard and sudden, dry-heaving before she even knew what was happening. Her whole body convulsed in my arms.

"Tallis—!" My voice cracked, wild and unwilling.

He was already there, crossing the room in two strides.

"I don't know what the hell she took," I choked, "but she's burning out. Fast."

Tallis didn't hesitate. He grabbed her wrist, checked her pulse with a look too steady for my liking, then swept her damp hair off her face.

"She's in serotonin shock," he muttered, more to himself than me. "Maybe benzo fallout on top of it. She's been stacking."

"She what—?"

"Stacking," he snapped. "Layering shit to chase the edge. Probably mixed a stimulant with a sedative, and something hallucinogenic on top. If we don't stabilize her—"

"I don't know how!" I shouted.

The words tore out of me like a confession.

I didn't know what to do.

All this time trying to save her, trying to protect her—and I couldn't even stop her from dying right in front of me.

"I need cold water," Tallis barked. "Fan, blanket, something to regulate both extremes. Now."

I didn't move.

My arms were locked around her, feeling her twitch and seize and burn and freeze all at once. Her fingernails clawed weakly into my chest like she didn't know where she was—or who I was.

And it hit me—

She might not know.

"She's going to make it," I said, like saying it could force it into truth. "She's going to—"

"Move, Dorian!"

I did.

I let go of her.

And in that moment, nothing had ever felt more like a betrayal.

Tallis pulled her into his lap like he'd done it a thousand times. Like he knew this rhythm, this kind of spiral. He cradled the back of her neck and whispered something low, steady—his voice a tether I didn't understand, couldn't be part of.

She whimpered once. Like a child. A nightmare. Her legs kicked weakly and then went limp again.

I stood useless, grabbing water, a towel, whatever I could. But none of it felt like enough.

None of it was me.

Tallis met my eyes only once—just once, as he pulled her tighter into his arms.

And I hated him for knowing what to do.

I hated him for being the one she needed right now.

I hated that he might save her.

Because I didn't know if I could.

I bolted.

Didn't think. Didn't breathe. Just ran.

Out the door. Down the hallway. Through people yelling my name—voices I couldn't place or didn't care about.

The sound of her gasping echoed in my skull like it was stitched behind my eardrums.

I needed Lysander.

I slammed shoulder-first into a wall turning a corner too fast, stumbled, caught myself, and kept going. I didn't stop. Not even when my lungs burned like acid. Not even when my chest felt like it was tearing down the center.

Tallis was with her.

Tallis was touching her.

Tallis knew what to do.

And I didn't.

I fucking didn't.

I needed someone who'd see her as more than something to fix. Someone who knew her like a sister, not a patient or a broken experiment. Someone who wouldn't touch her like a possession or hold her like a claim.

I needed someone who loved her without condition.

I needed him.

I turned a corner so sharp my legs nearly gave. And then—

There.

Lysander.

He was in the side corridor, leaning against the railing, nursing some kind of bruised wrist and talking to someone I didn't recognize. Calm. Casual.

Until he saw me.

He straightened like a shot, already frowning.

"What—"

"She's burning out," I choked. "Lysander—she's crashing. Bad. Tallis has her right now, but I—I don't—he shouldn't be the one, I can't—please."

I didn't even realize I was grabbing him until his shirt was bunched in my fist. I could barely get the words out.

"She's seizing. She's—she's not breathing right. I don't know what she took. But I know she needs you. Not me. Not him. You."

He stared at me.

Something flickered through his face—like a match to gasoline.

Then he moved.

Fast.

The moment he understood what I was saying, he dropped everything. Pushed past me. His feet hit the ground like gunshots, and I followed, chasing after him even though I had nothing left to give.

"You left her with Tallis?" he growled as we ran. "Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

"I didn't have a choice!"

"You always have a choice."

"I didn't know what to do, Lysander!"

"Then you stay with her anyway."

His voice cracked, furious. Grief tucked behind the rage.

We tore back toward the room.

Back to Ardere.

Back to the damage.

I prayed we weren't too late.

Because if she died tonight—

I didn't think I'd ever forgive myself.

Or survive it.

We slammed through the door like we were breaking in.

Ardere was on the floor, her back against the wall, her head lolling. Her breaths came shallow and spaced, her eyelids fluttering like she was trying to stay in a dream. Sweat slicked her skin. Too pale. Too still.

Tallis knelt beside her, holding her up with one arm, like he was waiting for applause. "I've got her," he said quickly, voice even, calm, rehearsed. "She just needs—"

"Move," Lysander barked.

Tallis blinked. "I said I've got her—"

"And I said move." Lysander was already kneeling, shouldering Tallis aside like he was furniture. "You wanna help? Get the fuck out of the way."

Tallis hesitated. For half a second, I thought he might argue.

Then Lysander laid his fingers against Ardere's throat, found her pulse—and his entire posture changed. His body went cold and precise.

"She's hypoventilating," he muttered. "Skin's clammy. Eyes unfocused. Whatever she took—it's not just one thing."

"Can you help her?" I asked, my voice shredded.

"I'm trying."

He shifted her, cradling the back of her head, and then without warning, pressed his knuckles hard into the center of her chest.

Ardere jerked.

Her face twisted in pain and she let out a weak, slurred cry.

Another sternum rub. Harder this time.

"Stay with me," Lysander said sharply. "You hear me? Don't you drift."

Her lips barely moved. A broken noise. No words. Just panic, bubbling under the surface.

He pinched her earlobe next. Rubbed it. Slapped her cheek—not enough to hurt, but enough to demand she wake the hell up.

She whimpered. Her hands trembled. Her whole body convulsed in a shiver that looked like her soul was trying to crawl out of her skin.

I couldn't look away.

"Talk to me, Ardere," Lysander whispered, softer now, his fingers brushing her cheek. "What did you take? You gotta help me help you, kid."

"I—" Her voice cracked, barely more than a ghost. "Don't...don't know."

"Yeah, you do. You just can't say it yet. I need you awake. I need you here."

Tallis hovered nearby, trying not to look irrelevant.

"She reached for me," he mumbled, more to himself than anyone. "I didn't do anything wrong."

Lysander didn't even turn his head. "You let her near a cocktail of shit she can't even name. And now she's half an inch from coding. So spare me your innocence complex, Tallis."

"Ardere," Lysander said, sharper now, right up against her face. "Look at me. Look at me. Did you smoke it? Did you snort it? Did you inject? Swallow? What did you do?!"

Her eyes fluttered. Her lips trembled.

"I don't... I don't know," she slurred. "Was just... there…"

"That doesn't help me," Lysander barked. His voice cracked.

Ardere flinched.

"Ardere come on," he said again, quieter, but raw. "Don't do this. Not now. Stay with me. Just tell me something."

She blinked once. Rolled her head sideways.

And then her whole body slackened like a marionette with its strings cut.

"No—nononono, don't you fucking dare," Lysander hissed.

He sat her up halfway, cradling her head again, patting her cheeks, checking her pulse. "Still there," he muttered, but barely. "Fuck—fuck."

Then his gaze swung to Tallis like a blade.

"You gave her something," Lysander said, voice dropping into a calm so lethal it made my stomach turn. "I know you did. What was it?"

Tallis raised both hands like he was innocent. "I didn't give her anything. She took it on her own."

"You let her. That makes it your fault."

"I didn't know what it was!" Tallis shouted, a flicker of panic sparking through the mask he wore so well. "She didn't tell me! She just—she just pulled something out of her pocket and—"

"Then figure it out," Lysander growled, rising to his feet like a god of war. "If you don't know what she took, you'd better remember. Because if she slips into a coma under your watch—"

He pointed a trembling finger at Tallis's chest.

"—I swear to every god still listening, you won't wake up tomorrow morning."

Tallis looked at me like I might say something.

I didn't.

Because for once—I agreed with Lysander.

Ardere gasped again, low and rattling.

Lysander dropped beside her, hands moving fast. Checking her throat, her pupils, her breathing. She was barely holding on.

"Her airway's closing," he muttered to himself, panic creeping into his voice no matter how calm he tried to stay. "Heart rate's erratic. This is bad. This is bad."

Tallis took a step forward, then froze. His hands were shaking.

"I think—" he swallowed. "I think it might've been—some combination. There was a capsule. And a strip of something under her tongue. I didn't see the label."

Lysander glared up at him, eyes bright with rage. "So she mixed pills and tabs? And you thought that was fine?"

"I didn't think she'd actually—"

"You're a fucking coward," Lysander said, turning back to Ardere, voice breaking. "And if she dies, you better run so far no one remembers your name."

I tore through the room like a madman.

Drawers yanked out and flung behind me. Bags dumped, clothes scattered, shoes kicked aside. I didn't care what I broke or ripped or shattered—I just needed to find it. Whatever it was. Whatever the hell she'd taken that was dragging her under like a riptide she couldn't fight.

Behind me, Lysander barked orders, his voice sharp as a blade. He was trying to keep her awake—his palm striking her cheek, his knuckles grinding into her sternum hard enough to make my gut churn. She moaned, barely. Her head lolled to the side.

"Come on, sis," he muttered, fierce and low. "You're not doing this. Not tonight."

I shoved aside a hoodie and something metallic clattered across the floor. I dropped to my knees and snatched it up—a little round tin. My fingers fumbled with the lid. Inside were two torn baggies and a broken pink capsule, cracked open and dusted with something sticky and sweet-smelling.

My throat closed up.

I bolted across the room and shoved it toward Lysander like it was some sacred offering.

"This—this was in her stuff—does this mean anything?!"

He snatched it from me, ripping one of the baggies open and bringing it to his nose. I watched his face change—like storm clouds crashing into something even worse.

"Shit," he hissed. "This isn't just benzos. There's fentanyl in this. Maybe laced with something else—fuck."

He turned back to her, voice like iron now. "Tallis. If you don't tell me exactly what you gave her, I will carve your fucking name into the morgue tag."

"I didn't mean to—she asked for something to calm down—just to level her out—"

"What was it?" Lysander roared.

Tallis stepped back, pale, hands up like he could surrender the guilt right out of his body.

"She was already out of it, I didn't think—"

"Get me some fucking Narcan!"

I couldn't stop shaking.

Lysander didn't hesitate. He cracked the cap off the Narcan, tore open the atomizer like it was second nature—like he'd done this a hundred times before and hated every single one.

He turned her face toward him, gripped her jaw tight, and slid the nozzle into her nose.

"This is gonna hurt," he muttered—not to her, but like a warning to the universe.

Then he pushed the plunger.

A breathless second passed. Then two.

Then—

Her body jolted so violently I thought she'd seize. Her back arched off the floor, eyes wide and empty, like she didn't recognize where she was—or what she was. She sucked in a wheezing, shattered gasp, then choked, her limbs spasming.

I stumbled backward. I'd never seen anything like it.

Lysander didn't move. He just knelt there beside her, one hand pressed to her chest to keep her grounded, his other hovering at her throat to check her pulse again.

"Come on," he said through clenched teeth. "Stay with me. Stay the fuck with me."

Ardere's mouth opened but no sound came out. Her hands clawed at the floor, at nothing. And then a sound did come—some awful hybrid of a sob and a scream, like her lungs didn't know how to work yet, like they were trying to come back online after being punched offline by a freight train.

She started coughing—wet, hard, painful. Lysander rolled her onto her side fast to keep her from aspirating.

And for a second, just one heartbeat of a second, it looked like she was going to stop breathing again.

"Breathe," Lysander barked, louder this time. "Ardere. You breathe, you hear me? You do not get to check out."

She gagged once, then gasped again, sharp and ragged, like every inhale was a fight.

Tallis stood off to the side, hands in his hair, white as chalk. I hoped to God he was scared. He should be.

I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe right either.

She was alive. Barely. But alive.

And Lysander was still there with her, kneeling in the wreckage, talking her back into her body.

Over and over, like a lifeline made of sheer force of will.

*****

The hallway outside the infirmary was too clean. Too quiet. The faint hum of medical equipment behind the closed door was the only thing tethering me to the fact that Ardere was still breathing. Barely.

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, body aching from bruises and splintered adrenaline. My eyes were locked on the door. Just in case.

Tallis stood across from me like a statue, bloody and still, like we hadn't just tried to beat the living hell out of each other while she was dying. He hadn't spoken a word since we got here.

Then Lysander turned from the chart he'd been reviewing, finally looking up. He zeroed in on us like a hawk circling roadkill.

"What the hell happened to you two?"

His voice cut through the sterile quiet like a blade. I looked up, met his gaze. The fury in his eyes hadn't cooled—it was sharpening. Focused. Dangerous.

Lysander looked us both over, noting the blood, the split lips, the bruises. None of it looked like an accident.

"I asked you a question," he said, stepping forward.

I swallowed hard. "He said something about her."

Lysander's eyes didn't leave mine. "What kind of something?"

I hesitated.

Tallis sighed, already rolling his eyes, "It was a joke."

"No it fucking wasn't," I snapped, finally pushing off the wall. "He said—he implied—that he slept with her while she was high."

Lysander's expression didn't change. He didn't speak. Didn't blink. But the air in the hallway suddenly felt heavier. Charged.

"I only said it to piss him off," Tallis cut in, his voice defensive but not quite apologetic. "It wasn't—"

Lysander was already moving.

He grabbed Tallis by the back of the head and slammed him into the wall hard enough to make the lights flicker. The thud echoed. A framed evacuation map crashed to the floor. Tallis gasped but didn't move—he was stunned. And smart enough not to fight back.

Lysander leaned in close, voice low and lethal.

"You think that's funny?" he hissed. "You think her being blacked out is something to joke about? Or take advantage of?"

Tallis tried to speak. "I didn't—"

"I don't give a fuck what you meant," Lysander snapped. "If there's even a possibility you touched her while she couldn't stand, I'll break every bone in your body and then ask questions."

And then Lysander grabbed him by the neck again—harder—and dragged him down the hallway. Not toward the exit.

Toward the back wing.

Where there were no cameras.

No staff.

Just walls and silence and room to bleed.

Tallis looked over his shoulder at me once, eyes wide now, panicked. I didn't move. Didn't say a word.

He deserved it.

Every. Damn. Second.

Lysander was taking care of Tallis now. And if there was anything just in this world, Tallis wouldn't be able to sit right for a month.

The hallway stretched too long and too quiet. The infirmary door was right there, but it felt like it was miles away. I didn't want to open it. Didn't want to see her like that again. Not after the way she looked in my arms—limp and gray and barely breathing.

But I had to.

I pushed open the door and slipped inside.

The lights were dimmed. Monitors blinked. The sharp scent of antiseptic stung the inside of my nose, and underneath it—her. Sweat. Salt. That faint trace of the shampoo she stole from someone's room and swore made her feel clean.

Ardere was curled up on the hospital bed, blankets tangled around her legs, knuckles white where she gripped the side rails. She was shaking like hell—full-body tremors, twitching in violent waves. Her eyes were open, bloodshot and rimmed red, but she was awake. Lucid.

Barely.

Her breathing was ragged. Not because she couldn't breathe—but because she was trying so hard to stay breathing. Like every inhale was a battle her body didn't want to fight anymore.

"Ardere," I said, and the word barely left my throat.

Her eyes found mine.

God. They were terrified.

Not blank. Not high. Not gone.

Just scared.

And in pain.

"Dorian," she croaked, voice hoarse. Her lip split when she tried to smile, and I wanted to scream. "Thought you were—mad at me."

"I'm not," I said, crossing the room fast, dropping into the chair beside her bed. I grabbed her hand. It was freezing and slick with sweat. "I'm not mad. I'm here."

"I'm so cold," she whispered, curling tighter. "But my skin's—burning."

"I know," I said, brushing the hair from her face. "It's withdrawal. The meds are helping, but not fast enough. Your body's fighting to reset."

"I can't—" Her voice broke. She clutched at her chest with her free hand. "I can't do this. I don't want to die like this."

"You're not going to die." I gripped her hand harder, bringing it to my chest so she could feel my heartbeat. "Do you feel that? You're still here. I've got you. We've got you."

Tears welled up in her eyes—silent, searing tears. Not the kind you let fall. The kind your body forces out when it's had too much and can't keep anything in anymore.

"My skin's crawling," she whispered. "There's something under it. Moving. I can't get it out."

"I know. I know, baby," I said, brushing her temple with my knuckles. "You're not crazy. It's the drugs. They're trying to dig their claws in. You just have to hold on."

"I don't know how," she choked. "It hurts. Everything hurts."

And then she started to sob.

Not loud. Not dramatic. But guttural. Broken.

Like her ribs were trying to crack open just to make space for the pain.

"I shouldn't have taken it," she said between sobs. "I thought—if I could just be numb for one fucking hour—but I messed everything up again."

"You didn't mess anything up," I said, climbing halfway onto the bed, sitting beside her. I pulled her gently into my arms, ignoring how her spine jerked every time a tremor rolled through. "You didn't. You were hurting. You tried to survive."

"I don't want to survive like this," she cried. "I don't want to wake up like this ever again."

"You won't." I pressed my forehead to hers. "I swear to you, Ardere. You're not doing this alone. Not this time. I'm not letting go."

"I don't deserve—"

"Yes," I snapped, sharper than I meant to. "You do. You do. You think I'm staying here because I pity you? You think I fought Lysander and carried you through the halls like a dying star because I don't love you?"

She blinked, startled.

"I love you," I said again, quieter. "I love you so goddamn much it's killing me to see you like this."

Her breath caught. She didn't say anything—couldn't.

But her fingers curled into my shirt, gripping like I was the last thing tethering her to the earth.

I held her through another wave. Another tremor. Another stifled sob.

I held her like she was made of matchsticks—ready to go up in flame at the slightest shift. Because maybe she was. But I wasn't letting her burn alone.

We stayed like that for what felt like hours.

Me, breathing for the both of us.

Her, breaking and rebuilding one ragged heartbeat at a time.

And outside, somewhere far away, Lysander was beating the shit out of a man who might have taken advantage of her.

Her lips parted. She tried to say something, but all that came out was a strangled sound and a fresh tremor so violent I thought she might seize. I didn't think. I just kicked off my boots and climbed into the bed beside her, careful not to jostle her more than I had to. My arms slid around her like instinct—like muscle memory from another life where holding her fixed things.

She felt like ice. Burning, aching ice.

Ardere flinched, but then sank into me, like her body didn't care what her brain thought anymore. She pressed her face into my chest, and I held her tighter.

"Dorian…" she croaked, voice raw and uneven like broken glass.

"I've got you," I said quickly, brushing damp hair from her face. "You're okay. You're safe now."

"No—I… I need to…" Her whole body jerked with the effort of speaking. Her hands fumbled at my chest like she was trying to tell me something with her fingers instead.

"Breathe, baby. Take your time. Just… just breathe. I'm not going anywhere."

She nodded, barely, and then pushed out a few more words between shallow breaths.

"I didn't mean… to. I didn't… I wanted—stop."

It was like listening to a puzzle unravel midair. My stomach twisted. "Didn't mean to what?"

Her eyes filled with tears. "Wanted… you. Not… not him."

The words came in fragments, but they sliced clean. My throat closed. I held her closer, wishing I could pull every last drop of that poison out of her blood with my bare hands.

"You don't have to explain. It's okay. I know." My voice cracked. "I know."

She sobbed. Or maybe it was just the shaking getting worse. Her teeth clacked so hard I worried she'd chip one.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I was… I was gone. It was dark. I didn't—" She broke off again, squeezing her eyes shut. "Don't hate me."

"God, no." I kissed the top of her head, the salty damp strands of hair. "Never. You hear me? Never."

I felt her try to nod. Or maybe she just didn't have the strength to stop trembling anymore.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Time didn't mean anything here.

I held her as she cried, as she shook, as she whispered half-coherent fragments of a night that would haunt us both. Her body was trying to burn its way out of itself, and I was powerless except to anchor her through it. But I'd take powerless over absent. I'd take pain if it meant she wasn't alone in hers.

—

It was getting worse.

Worse than I thought it could get.

I had to hold her down twice now—not because she was trying to hurt herself, but because her body was jerking so violently I was afraid she'd tear something. Her teeth had started to chatter so hard I thought they'd crack. I tried wrapping her in the extra blanket from the supply closet, but she tore it off like it was suffocating her. Then, not five minutes later, she was begging for it back, saying she was freezing, that her skin was made of ice.

She wasn't making sense anymore.

Her words were slurry. Scrambled. Repetitive. Sometimes she didn't even speak in full sentences, just fragments. The same ones. Over and over and over.

"Make it stop. Just a second. Just one. Just a second. Please."

I tried to talk to her. Tried to ground her. Remind her where she was, that she wasn't alone. That this was temporary. But her eyes wouldn't land on me anymore, just flicked back and forth like she was searching for something that wasn't there. Or maybe trying to dodge something that was.

Her pupils were pinpricks. Her pulse—racing. I could see it in her neck, hammering like it wanted to break through the skin. She was sweating and shaking and babbling now, her nails digging crescent moons into her arms.

And the sounds. God, the sounds she was making.

Like something between a whimper and a whine. Animal. Desperate. Not her.

And I couldn't stop it.

I kept thinking—what if it doesn't end? What if this doesn't stop? What if we're breaking her instead of fixing her?

She writhed again, hard, kicking the sheets off. Her foot clipped my jaw, and I saw stars for a second, but I didn't let go of her. I couldn't. I couldn't even blink without feeling like something would get worse.

And then she said it. Hoarse. Cracked.

"Lysander."

I froze.

"Lysander," she whispered again, louder this time. Her voice was soaked in raw panic. "Please—make it stop."

My breath caught.

I looked up just in time to see the door creak open.

Lysander stepped in.

And everything inside me screamed.

Not because I didn't want him here. Not because I didn't trust him. But because I already knew what was coming, and I wasn't strong enough for it.

Ardere pushed off my chest like her limbs had just remembered how to move. She got to her knees and reached toward him like he was salvation.

"Please," she said, eyes wild and glistening. "Lys, please—I can't—I can't—I'll do anything—"

I had to look away. I had to.

Because if she'd said those things to me—looked at me like that—I would've broken. I would've given her whatever she asked for. I would've caved.

And I hate myself for it.

I heard her voice crack again, her body convulsing like her very nerves were trying to escape her skin. "You have it—you always have it—they trust you with it, you don't have to give me all of it, I don't need all of it, just a dose of morphine, just one—just one—

My fists curled into the sheets.

Lysander didn't speak right away.

She kept going, incoherent now, the words bleeding together. Her face flushed, soaked in sweat, but her lips were blue. She looked like she was burning and freezing at the same time.

"I'm not strong enough," she said. "I can't—I can't do it, Lys. I thought I could. I can't. Please, just make it stop. Please."

Lysander's voice was soft when it came. Too soft.

"I'm not giving you anything, Ardere."

She let out a broken sound. Like something inside her just cracked in two. Her body slumped forward, spine arched, and I had to catch her again before she hit the floor.

"No," she whimpered. "No, no, no, no—"

Her nails dug into my arm. She was crying so hard her nose was bleeding. Her limbs twitched, then went limp, then jerked again like she was short-circuiting.

I couldn't take it.

I held her tighter. Closer. Pressed my forehead to the back of her shoulder. If she noticed, she didn't show it. Her whole body was a tremor now. A silent scream, vibrating beneath my ribs.

Lysander crouched in front of her. I could see the guilt on his face. Every line. Every crack.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "But this is the only way you get better. If I give you morphine now, you will just have to restart this process again in a few hours."

She didn't respond.

She couldn't.

Her body was already curling in on itself again, as if trying to vanish.

I didn't know it could get worse.

I thought I'd seen the worst of it. But watching Ardere now, writhing under the thin infirmary blanket, her eyes rolling back in her head, her body caught between full-body shudders and breathless, strangled sobs—

No.

This is worse.

She's soaked through with sweat. Her fingers twitch and claw at the bed, scratching at nothing. Her skin looks gray beneath the flush of her fever. I can't tell if she's hot or cold—maybe both. Maybe neither. Her body doesn't even know anymore.

And then the moaning starts. Low at first. Wordless. Then jagged words break through the tremors.

"Hurts," she gasps. "Dorian—it—please, please—make it—"

She doesn't finish the sentence. She can't.

Lysander had left the room only moments before, but I'm already up and moving toward the door when it slams back open.

He steps inside, sleeves rolled, jaw tight. He takes one look at her and doesn't even blink. "She's peaking."

"No shit," I snap. My voice comes out harsher than I mean, but I don't apologize. "Lysander, we can't just—just sit here and watch this. Isn't there anything you can give her? Anything at all?"

"Saline to keep her hydrated. Tylenol if the fever spikes again." Lysander doesn't look up as he sets down the IV tray. "That's it."

"That's it?" I echo, stunned. "That's all?"

He nods once. "She gets through this clean, or she doesn't get through it at all."

"But—" I want to scream. "This is inhuman."

"This is detox," he says. Then he glances at me, voice suddenly cold. "You want to give her morphine? You want her calm now and a junkie tomorrow?"

I shut up.

"She's already begging," Lysander mutters, pulling out the IV needle. "We're at the tipping point now. This part is hell, but it's the way through. If we cave now, we go back to square one. And we don't have that kind of time."

Ardere lets out another cry, twisting her body toward the wall. Her arm flails weakly, nearly knocking over the saline bag Lysander is trying to hang.

He curses under his breath. "Hold her down. I'm not missing this vein."

I jump forward without hesitation, grabbing her arm and bracing her shoulder with my other hand. She whimpers at my touch, but I try to be gentle, try to keep her steady as Lysander swabs her skin.

The needle goes in. Ardere thrashes.

"Fuck—hold her still!" Lysander barks.

"I'm trying—"

But her whole body is fighting us. She kicks out. Her knee connects with the side of the bed. She nearly knocks the IV pole over. Lysander swears again but keeps his focus on the line.

I glance down at her. "Ardere. Hey. Look at me."

She tries. Her eyes flutter half open—bloodshot and glassy and wide with terror. "D—Dor…"

"I've got you," I whisper, gripping her arm tighter. "You're not alone. Just hold on. Just a little longer."

Tears spill over her cheeks. She mumbles something, but it's too slurred to make out.

"There," Lysander says finally. The line's in. He tapes it down fast. "Get the fluids running."

He flicks the drip line, adjusting it. Ardere sags back against the pillow, shaking violently, but at least she's no longer fighting the line.

I release her arm slowly, but I don't move away. I smooth her damp hair from her face. Her lips are cracked. Her jaw clenched.

And still, she's whispering. "Hurts. Hurts. Hurts…"

"I know," I say, even though I don't. I couldn't. "I'm here."

I'm sitting on the edge of her bed, holding one of her hands between both of mine. I've stopped trying to talk. There's nothing to say that would matter. I just stay close. Breathe with her. Try to be a tether when everything else is spinning too fast.

Then Lysander walks back in, his steps quiet but heavy—his version of a warning. I glance up at him just as Ardere lifts her head with a sickening slowness, her body shaking so badly she can barely keep her eyes on him.

"Lys…" she rasps, voice shredded. "Please."

I tense.

Please.

Just one word, but it drops like a live grenade in the room. Lysander stops moving. His jaw goes rigid, his eyes going darker than I've ever seen them.

"Please," she begs again, slurring over the word. "Make it… make it stop. I c-can't. I can't."

I don't realize I'm holding my breath until I hear her sob. It's quiet—half a gasp, half a cry—and then she's pleading again, this time in fragments.

"I'll do—anything. Anything. Just… just stop it, Lys…"

"I'm not giving you more poison," he says again. Cold. Controlled. But there's a break in it—something tight in the middle. His own version of grief.

"You don't get to stop halfway through. This is it. This is the worst of it. And you're going to survive it. And I know you've survived worse."

"No—" she gasps, lips shaking so hard she can't finish.

"You remember the woods?" Lysander's voice cuts through the air like a whip. "When you disappeared? You crawled out of those woods high out of your fucking mind, covered in bruises and cuts and barely breathing. You sent me a message from a burner phone with nothing but coordinates."

I look up at him. That's the first I'm hearing of that.

"You remember what you said in that message?" he continues. "You said, 'I want to come home.' And I met you there. I carried you out. You fought through that alone, Ardere. You survived it. If you can do that—that—you can make it through this."

Her head falls back, and for a second I think she's passed out. But then a whisper threads through the air like smoke: "It's… worse…"

"No," Lysander says, kneeling beside her bed now, his voice level. "It's the same. And all you have to do is hang on."

Ardere groans again, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. Her hands tremble violently in mine, and all I can do is hold them tighter. She's soaked through the gown now. Her hair sticks to her forehead. Her lips are cracked and bleeding.

But she is doing it.

****

She's finally stopped shaking.

Her body's still curled in on itself, the hospital blanket clutched in one trembling hand like it's the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth, but the worst of the storm has passed. The sweats are slowing. Her breathing's more steady. Not normal—but not ragged. Not frantic. Her eyes are open, barely, lids fluttering like she's trying to stay here with me even as her body begs her to disappear into sleep.

I brush a damp lock of hair from her forehead and murmur, "You need to rest now. Your body's been through hell."

Ardere doesn't answer at first, just lets her eyes drift shut for a beat, like she might finally give in. But then they open again, red and glassy.

"You're still here," she says softly. Her voice is slurred around the edges, tired and heavy, but not broken like before. "Didn't think you would be."

"I told you I'm not going anywhere," I say, even though she probably won't remember half of this come morning. "I meant it."

She blinks slowly, like her brain is processing the words through molasses. Then her mouth tips into the faintest, drowsiest smile. "Last night was amazing."

My heart skips, jerks like it's been pulled out of rhythm.

I don't say anything at first—just watch her face, my pulse suddenly thudding in my ears. She's not looking at me. Her eyes are trained somewhere over my shoulder, unfocused, but her smile deepens.

"Not just the sex," she slurs softly, "though, yeah, that was really good…"

My throat tightens, and I reach for the cup of water by the bedside, mostly for something to do. "Ardere—"

"It's just—" she interrupts, her voice barely a whisper now. "I've never felt that… cared for. Like, the way you held me. You didn't rush. You weren't rough. You were…" She trails off with a little laugh, like the right word is floating just out of reach. "You made me feel like I was worth something. Not broken. Not dirty."

Her eyes are glossy, not with pain now, but something softer. Something that cleaves me in half.

I swallow, but my mouth is dry. "You are worth something. You always were."

Her gaze finally meets mine, and even though it's heavy with exhaustion, it lands straight in my chest like a sucker punch.

"Don't let me forget that," she mumbles.

"You won't."

"Promise?"

"I promise," I whisper.

She exhales, long and slow, then closes her eyes. Her body sinks deeper into the mattress, like the weight of everything has finally let go of her, even just for a minute.

I don't know if she'll remember this in the morning.

But I will.

Every word.