Trigger warnings* smut, again. Tallis being a dick, non consensual drug use, mentions of noncon, blackmail, situationship vs ex continued, fights, violence, swearing.
Ardere's finally asleep.
Her breathing is slow and even now, curled on her side with one hand tucked under her cheek. The shaking's stopped. The fever's broken. Whatever fire had been eating her alive from the inside has simmered into embers. I don't dare move from the edge of the cot—we'd both collapsed here sometime before dawn, her finally slipping under, and me too tired to do anything but follow.
For the first time in days, the world is still.
And then I hear the softest tap of boots against the concrete.
I open one eye and see Riven standing at the edge of the room, arms crossed, already dressed in black like the smug devil he is. His expression is unreadable, but his presence alone scrapes across my nerves.
I sit up carefully, trying not to jostle Ardere. "What do you want?"
He shrugs. "Didn't think I'd find you sleeping like the dead. Cute."
I glare. "You wake me up for a reason, or just to be irritating on purpose?"
"Oh, definitely both." He leans against the wall, gaze flicking to Ardere for a heartbeat before settling on me with a grin that doesn't reach his eyes. "But mostly, I'm here because I'm still shocked the universe gave you another shot at this. You. Of all people."
I don't take the bait. Not yet. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Ardere," he says, like her name alone is the joke. "She almost died a dozen times this week, and somehow she still ended up in your arms. After everything you did. After Tallis."
I stand slowly, my spine aching from the way I'd slept, but I don't break eye contact. "Don't say his name like you know anything about what happened."
"I know enough." Riven's tone sharpens. "Enough to remember that Tallis got his ass kicked with your name still bleeding on his teeth. And now—what? You get the girl, and a redemption arc wrapped in a bow?"
"She's not a reward," I snap. "She's not some prize the universe handed me because I survived longer than he did."
"No," Riven agrees quietly. "But it sure looks that way."
Silence stretches between us. I can hear Ardere's soft, steady breathing behind me, the one sound grounding me.
Riven pushes off the wall. "Funny thing about second chances, Dorian. They look a lot like stolen ones."
Riven turns like he's about to leave, but I'm on my feet before he can take another step.
"No," I say sharply. "Don't walk away thinking I believe I'm some innocent bystander in what happened to her."
He stops mid-step, glancing back at me with one brow raised.
"I'm not," I go on. "I wasn't then. I'm not now. I've made more mistakes with her than I can count. Pushed when I should've pulled. Shut her out when she needed me in. But don't you dare stand there and act like I'm the one who left her bleeding out."
That gets his attention.
I cross the room in three steps, keeping my voice low so I don't wake her. "I didn't give her the pills, Riven. I didn't blow into her mouth the shit that nearly stopped her heart. I didn't look at someone that broken and think, 'You know what'll help? Sleeping with her."
Riven's jaw ticks. "You think I don't know what Tallis did?"
"Yeah," I say. "I think you know exactly what he did. And you're still standing here acting like Lysander beating his ass was some kind of cosmic injustice instead of the inevitable consequence of putting a loaded gun in someone's mouth and calling it love."
Riven scoffs, but there's no real fight in it. "So what, you get to stand on some moral high ground now?"
I shake my head. "There is no high ground. Just a pit we all fell into. I just didn't drag her in with me."
The silence between us stretches—tense, brittle.
Riven glances past me to Ardere, curled on the cot, so pale and still it makes my chest ache all over again.
"I was there too, you know," he mutters. "When she sent that message. When we found her crawling out of the woods like something feral, shaking and half-starved. I'm not defending what Tallis did. But he didn't leave her there."
"No," I say quietly. "But he sure as hell made sure she went back."
Riven's lips press into a line. He doesn't argue that. He just nods, once, sharp and final.
Riven doesn't move. Just lingers by the wall like some storm cloud waiting to strike.
I think he's finally going to leave. But then he looks at Ardere again—still asleep, curled in a knot of exhaustion and too-big clothes—and lets out a dry, mirthless breath.
"She got through it," he says. "Somehow. But it won't matter."
I glance up at him. "What the hell does that mean?"
"She's just gonna go right back to him." He says it like it's already been decided. "You think this little detox-in-the-woods stunt changed anything? The second she can walk again, she'll crawl right back into his arms and beg him for another hit."
"You're wrong."
Riven lifts his eyebrows in lazy amusement, like that was the exact response he was fishing for. "Am I?"
"Yeah," I snap. "You are. Because she's not going back to him. Not after what he did."
Riven snorts. "What he did? You think this was some big turning point? Some moral event horizon for her? Tallis giving her drugs and screwing her half-conscious? That's not some new betrayal to her, Dorian. That's a Tuesday."
I feel it like a slap.
"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," I say.
But even as the words leave my mouth, something ugly writhes in my gut. Because part of me is scared he's right. Not because she wants him. Not because she loves him. But because of what it means to need something that kills you. And need it so bad, you'd sell your own soul—or body or breath or future—to feel okay for five more minutes.
"She's stronger than you give her credit for," I say, quieter now. "You didn't see her fight through that peak. You didn't see what it took. How hard it hit her. She could've given up. But she didn't."
Riven shrugs, looking unimpressed. "Sure. But she's done that before, hasn't she? Crawled out of it. Survived it. And then gone right back in."
I stare at him, breathing hard. "She didn't have me before."
Riven tilts his head like he's trying to decide if I really believe that or if I'm just trying to convince myself.
He doesn't answer. Just looks at me for a long time before saying, "You better hope that matters."
And then—finally—he leaves. Door clicking shut behind him.
I sit back down beside her, my knees shaking a little. Her fingers twitch in her sleep, her body finally still but her mind clearly not.
The faucet squeaked when I turned it off. My hands were still shaking as I grabbed the towel and dragged it over my face, the water gone cold a minute ago. I just needed a second. One second to breathe. To not be sitting there, listening to Riven spit poison and act like Ardere was a foregone conclusion. Like she'd crawl back to Tallis the moment her legs worked again.
She wouldn't. She wouldn't.
I pushed open the door to the room—
—and stopped.
Tallis was there.
Right next to her.
Blood crusted his knuckles, his collar ripped, and half his face looked like someone had tried to cave it in with a brick. But he was smiling. Hands buried in Ardere's hair, like he owned her. Like none of this had ever happened. Like he wasn't the reason she couldn't sit up on her own.
Her head tilted toward him in her sleep, soft, like she was safe.
I don't remember crossing the room. Only that my voice came out low, hard. "Get the hell away from her."
Tallis didn't flinch. He didn't stop touching her.
He cupped her face.
"I said," I growled, louder this time, "get your hands off her and get the fuck out."
"She missed me," Tallis murmured, like I hadn't spoken at all. His fingers brushed along her jaw. "She always does."
I stepped forward, fists clenched. "I swear to God, if you don't leave right now—"
He finally looked at me. And smiled.
"I wonder," he said casually, "what she'll do when she finds out."
I froze. "Finds out what?"
"You know what I'm talking about." He tilted his head. "The night it all changed. When she started looking at you differently. Getting too close. Thinking maybe you were safe."
My stomach turned.
"You had Riven plant the idea in her head," he said softly. "Didn't you?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't. My mouth went dry.
"That wasn't her choice," he said, running his thumb gently across Ardere's cheek. "That was yours. You couldn't win her over on your own, so you cheated. Gave her a push. Just a whisper from Riven at the right moment."
He let the silence hang there, like a noose tightening around my throat.
Then he leaned closer—not to Ardere, but to me.
"You ever send Lysander after me again, or threaten me yourself? I'll tell her. I'll tell her the night she gave herself to you never belonged to her at all. That it started as a lie you let Riven plant in her mouth like a fucking parasite."
I couldn't speak.
Tallis stepped back from the bed and ran a hand through his hair, like he was already bored of me. "You think I'm the monster?" he said. "But at least I never took her choices from her. You know what the funny thing is?" he said over his shoulder, not even looking at me. "Riven's got a big mouth when he drinks."
My heart stuttered.
He turned slowly, like he could savor every word. "He said you didn't even have to ask twice. Said you came to him that night practically begging. Just one suggestion, one nudge. Make her want me. That's all you needed."
I swallowed hard. "You're lying."
He smirked. "Maybe. But are you willing to bet she won't believe it?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
Tallis walked toward me again, slow, like this was some lazy conversation and not the fucking dismantling of my entire soul.
"You know, I was going to kill you," he said, voice soft and conversational. "Not with my hands, of course. Too obvious. I had something quieter in mind. Poison. Maybe rig the scene to look like you decided to leave. Got cold feet. Vanished."
My blood ran cold.
He stepped in closer, close enough that I could smell the blood on him, the smoke still clinging to his sleeves. "But now," he said, "I'm feeling generous."
I stared at him, jaw tight. "What do you want."
He smiled, wide and wolfish. "Tell her it's over."
I blinked. "What?"
"You heard me. You tell Ardere that whatever's between you is done. That you've changed your mind. That it was a mistake. Say it with enough conviction, and she'll believe it."
"You think I'd do that to her?"
"I know you would." His voice dropped, knife-sharp. "You already have."
He looked down at Ardere, her face still pale, jaw twitching faintly in whatever dream had her now. "You want to protect her, don't you? From me. From Riven. From the truth."
My heart thundered in my chest.
"Then do it," he whispered. "Walk away before I make her run from you. Before I tell her everything and make sure she never looks at you the same again."
I hated him. I hated that he knew exactly where to hit. Hated that part of me wanted to do it—just so she could stay safe.
His hand was still in her hair, slow and careful, curling a dark strand around his finger before letting it fall again.
"She'll be waking up soon," he said, voice quiet and calm, too calm. "And when she does, I don't want anyone else here."
I stared at him. "Too bad."
He didn't look at me. Just kept watching her like he was waiting for something—like he was owed something. "I'm not going to let you be the first face she sees."
"And I'm not leaving her alone with you." My voice cracked like a whip. "Not after last time."
That finally made him glance at me. A flicker of something passed over his face—regret, maybe. Or just annoyance at being reminded. "I didn't touch her."
"You think that makes it better?"
His jaw twitched. "I made a mistake."
"You don't get mistakes," I snarled. "Not with her. Not after what you did."
Silence stretched between us like wire—tight, thin, ready to snap.
Tallis exhaled through his nose, like he was trying to be patient. "You think you've got a choice here?" he asked, voice low. "You think just because you stayed by her side for a week that suddenly means you're the one she's going to pick?"
"I don't care who she picks," I said, and it even sounded half-true. "But I'm not going anywhere."
His eyes were cold steel now. "You are. Or I'll make you."
I stepped forward. "Try it."
For a second, I thought he might. But then his gaze cut toward her again—her fingers twitching in sleep, her breath shallow but steady.
When he spoke, it was quieter. More dangerous. "If she wakes up and sees us fighting again, if she sees you, and panics? That's on you."
My chest caved in a little at the thought.
"She needs peace when she opens her eyes," he said. "Not more men with blood on their hands standing over her like dogs fighting for scraps."
"I'm not a fucking—"
"Then leave."
I didn't move. Couldn't.
He looked at me then, really looked. "You want to protect her?" he asked. "Then go. Let her wake up with someone who won't make her feel like the world's still ending."
My throat burned.
I looked at Ardere. Her cheek was tilted just slightly into his palm, like she'd leaned there in her sleep. My hands curled into fists.
He was right. He was the wrong choice—but right now, he was the one she wanted.
And maybe… maybe I had no right to take that from her.
But walking away? That still felt like breaking my own ribs.
****
I don't move.
Tallis watches me like he's waiting for me to come to my senses, to slink away with my tail tucked. But I just walk to the far corner of the room and sit—my back against the wall, elbows on my knees, and every nerve in my body coiled tight.
He can posture all he wants. He can make his veiled threats and talk like he's some born-again saint, but I'm not leaving her. Not after what he did. Not with her this vulnerable.
If he so much as breathes wrong, I'll take his fucking jaw off.
Time drips by slow. The kind of slow that makes you second-guess everything—your thoughts, your heartbeat, the way you're gripping the fabric of your jeans like it's the only thing anchoring you. The only sound in the room is Ardere's breathing, shallow and ragged and real.
Then she shifts.
A small twitch at first, just her fingers. Her eyes flutter, her brow pulling together like she's already bracing for pain. She lets out a low, strangled sound, her lashes flickering open.
I lean forward instinctively, pulse hammering.
Her gaze scans the ceiling. Then the wall. Then it drifts toward me—dazed, unfocused, but I see it: confusion. A flicker of panic. Like she doesn't know where she is or who she's with. Her lips part slightly, like she might speak.
But before she can even fully turn her head, Tallis is there.
His hand cups her cheek again, more forceful this time, fingers slipping beneath her jaw as he leans in, blocking her view of me completely.
"Hey—hey, you're okay," he says, his voice all warm concern. "You're safe. Just breathe, alright? Look at me."
She tries to glance away again—toward me, maybe—but he redirects her with a gentle tap of his thumb against her cheek, his voice lowering like a spell.
"Right here. I've got you."
I see the confusion in her eyes start to blur into something else. Something easier. A softer shape she can settle into. And the worst part is, she lets it happen.
She leans into him.
It's subtle at first.
The way her eyes flick past his shoulder. The way her head starts to turn ever so slightly in my direction. Like some part of her knows I'm here. Like even through the fog and the pain and whatever shit she's just clawed her way out of, she knows.
But Tallis is faster.
Always.
He moves like he's rehearsed this—like he's trained for it. A hand brushing her hair back, a whispered word, a tilt of her chin just enough to make her look at him. Every time her gaze begins to drift away, he catches it and pulls it back. Again. And again. And again.
"You're alright," he murmurs, soft enough that it sounds intimate. "Stay with me, okay? Just look at me. That's it."
Her lips part. She tries again. I can see it. I feel it. Like some thread between us is trying to hold, even if it's fraying at both ends.
But he presses his forehead to hers, his voice barely a breath. "Don't push yourself yet. I'm right here. Just me. I've got you."
She exhales something like a broken sound, and I see it—the exact second she gives up the fight. Her eyes glaze over a little, stop wandering. Her body goes slack again, and he smiles like he's just won something.
Like he's claimed her.
I dig my nails into the meat of my palm, forcing myself not to speak. Not to move. Not to snap. Because if I so much as blink wrong, he'll use it. He'll twist it. He'll turn me into the villain in her head before she's even fully awake.
But I see her.
Even through the haze, even through his constant redirection—she's trying. She's trying to find me. To understand why she feels what she feels.
And I won't let him be the only voice she hears.
I lean forward, just a bit—just enough that when her eyes drift again, when her brain starts to fight its way back through the murk, she'll see me.
She doesn't say much at first. Just breathes. Listens. Eyes flicker open and closed again like the world's too loud, too sharp around the edges.
Tallis keeps his voice low, sweetened with that same syrup he always uses when he wants her pliable. He strokes her cheek like he owns her. Like he has.
I can't take my eyes off her.
Then—
"Dorian?"
Her voice is wrecked. Rough. But it slices the air like a blade.
Tallis freezes.
She blinks slowly, like it costs her something. Like saying my name pulled her up out of a ditch she wasn't sure she wanted to climb out of.
My chest lurches.
I don't move right away. Not until she adds, barely audible:
"Are you here?"
Tallis turns his head to look at me, jaw tight. A command flickers behind his eyes.
Don't you dare.
But I already am.
I stand.
Her eyes catch the motion. She finds me. There's something almost like relief there—soft, fleeting. Real.
I step forward, slow and careful, like if I move too fast the moment will shatter.
"I'm here," I say. My voice is steadier than I expect. "I've been here."
She tries to sit up. Tallis puts a hand on her shoulder to keep her down.
"You shouldn't—"
"Don't," she rasps, brushing weakly at his wrist. Her eyes never leave mine. "Let him talk."
And just like that, the dynamic shifts. Slight. Imperceptible maybe, to anyone else. But Tallis feels it. I feel it.
He leans close to her, whispering something I don't catch, but whatever it is, she doesn't react. Her attention is already gone from him, drifting closer to me.
She asks, "Did you stay?"
And I swear to god—I don't know if she's asking me to confirm something she already knows, or if she wants it to be true.
"Yes," I say, softer now. "I wasn't going to leave you."
Tallis lets go of her shoulder, but not before I see the tension in his fingers. He's biting back a dozen words. Threats, probably. But he won't say them in front of her.
Not yet.
She reaches a hand slightly toward me, but it doesn't quite lift off the bed.
And I wonder—did she call out my name just so I'd come closer?
She blinks again, slower this time. Her lips part like she's trying to form a thought that keeps slipping through her fingers.
Then—
"…Water," she croaks. "Or a bowl—I think I'm gonna be sick."
I'm already moving before she finishes the sentence. But so is Tallis.
We both lunge in the same direction. His arm knocks into mine, and my shoulder clips his as we both head for the tiny sink shoved into the corner of the room. The bastard nearly elbows me trying to be faster.
I grip the edge of the counter, trying not to snap. "Back the hell off—"
"She asked for me," Tallis mutters under his breath.
"She asked for water," I bite out. "Try listening, for once."
He yanks a chipped bowl from the shelf like he means to weaponize it.
I grab the water bottle I brought and fill the glass I'd already set aside for her hours ago. Because I knew she'd need it.
We get back to her bed at the same time, like two idiots in a standoff at a hospital bedside.
I offer her the water.
He offers her the bowl.
Her eyes flick between the two of us, confused and barely conscious.
"I can't drink and throw up at the same time," she says dryly, a little dazed. "Pick one."
Tallis puts the bowl down beside her, reluctantly. I hand her the water, careful to help her sit just enough to drink.
She sips it, wincing. "You two need to stop playing tug-of-war with my damn body."
"Then he should leave," Tallis says smoothly.
"Funny," I mutter. "I was thinking the same thing."
She groans and lays back again. "God, you're both insufferable."
But when I settle back into the chair beside her, her eyes drift to me again.
And she doesn't ask me to leave.
Tallis sees it too. And it's driving him mad.
He stiffens, his jaw tightening as he slowly rises to his feet, the gentleness draining from him like blood down a sink. He takes one step back from the bed, then another, and for the first time since she woke up, he's not looking at her.
He's looking at me.
The room changes.
It's subtle—at first. A shift in the air. Like the pressure dropping before a storm. The lights don't flicker, but they feel like they should. Something about him seems wrong in a way I can't name. The same way a dog knows not to go into a certain part of the woods.
And maybe that's what Tallis wants.
Because when he speaks again, the softness is gone. Every syllable slices like glass.
"You should leave," he says, but not like a suggestion anymore. Like a promise. "Now."
I don't move.
"Tallis—" Ardere tries to sit up, but he doesn't even look at her.
His eyes are locked on me.
And for a second, I see it—what he really is when no one's watching. What she's forgotten. The rage beneath the charm. The thing that feeds on control and doesn't know how to live without it.
He takes another step toward me, low and slow like a predator. "You don't belong here," he murmurs. "You never did. You think staying makes you brave? Noble?" His head tilts. "All it does is paint a target."
I stand.
"I'm not going anywhere."
He grins, but it's the kind that curdles in your gut. "Funny," he says. "That's what the last guy said too."
Before I can react, he moves. Not with fists—not yet—but with presence. His body cuts into the space between us like a blade, shoulders squared, tension writhing just under the surface like it's aching to be unleashed.
"Do you want her to see it?" he hisses under his breath, low enough Ardere might not catch it. "What happens if I stop pretending? What happens if I stop holding back in front of her?"
I feel my pulse spike, but I hold my ground. "Then you'll prove everything I've been trying to warn her about."
He chuckles—dark, low, soulless. "She won't see it that way," he says. "Not yet. She's not ready. You know it. I know it. So why don't you do the right thing… for once in your miserable, self-righteous life—" he leans in, teeth bared "—and get out before you make things worse."
I glance at Ardere. She's trying to sit up again, her mouth parting like she wants to speak.
That's when Tallis moves back to her side, quick and smooth.
He presses a hand to her chest and gently pushes her back down onto the pillow, eyes never leaving mine.
"Easy now," he coos, suddenly sweet again. "You're still recovering."
She frowns. "Dorian—?"
"Is leaving," Tallis says.
She says my name again. Quiet. Fragile.
And something in me breaks.
Because I see more than disappointment in her eyes when she thinks I'm going to walk out that door.
I see fear.
Not just any fear—him. She's afraid that if I leave, he'll still be here. That she'll be alone with him again. That maybe what happened last night isn't as buried as she's pretending it is.
It slams into me like a brick to the chest.
Because I know that look. I know what it means when someone doesn't have the words but is begging you to stay anyway. And suddenly, I can't breathe past the rage crawling up my throat like bile.
I should keep my mouth shut. I should play the long game. I should be the patient one, the quiet one, the good guy she can trust.
But I've never been good at swallowing this much fire.
So I say the thing I know I shouldn't. The thing that might burn everything down.
"Ardere," I ask, voice low, shaking. "Did he touch you last night?"
Tallis stills.
Her breath catches.
"Did he—" My voice cracks. "Did he have sex with you while you were high and unconscious?"
Silence.
The kind of silence that kills the room. That carves it hollow.
Her eyes go wide, like I slapped her. And then—
She flinches.
Like the question itself scraped something raw inside her.
"Don't," she whispers.
But I can't stop now. "You were out of it, Ardere Barely awake. You could barely string a sentence together and he was all over you like—like—like he owned you."
"I said don't," her voice rises, trembling. Her hand goes to her mouth, like she's about to be sick. "Why would you even—?"
Tallis doesn't speak. Doesn't even blink. He watches her fall apart with surgical detachment, like he's waiting to see which way this will swing. If she'll turn to me for answers or him for protection.
Her breathing's fast now. Unsteady. She shakes her head, over and over. "I don't remember—I don't—you can't just ask me something like that, Dorian."
My stomach caves in.
Because I already know the answer.
Even if it's a no—she doesn't know. Which means she's living with the possibility. With him. And I just shoved her straight into that fear without a second of warning.
"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "I shouldn't've—I just—he—he's not safe, Ardie. He's not. I don't care what version of him you remember—he's not who you think he is."
"Stop." She curls in on herself, knees pulling close. "Just stop."
And the worst part is, I don't know who she's saying it to.
Me.
Or herself.
Tallis finally speaks.
Soft. Dangerous.
"You're a bastard," he says, venom calm in his mouth. "She wakes up from trauma and the first thing you do is accuse her of being violated?"
"I didn't accuse her," I snap. "I accused you."
He steps closer.
"Get. Out."
I glance at Ardere—too pale, lips pressed tight, eyes swimming with tears she refuses to shed—and suddenly I realize I might have just broken the last good piece left in her.
I didn't mean to say it.
Not like that. Not now.
But the second I saw the look on her face—not just disappointment when she thought I might walk out, but fear—something in me snapped.
And so did Tallis.
He swung,u caught his arm mid-air, but I was running out of room, out of angles. Tallis wasn't fighting like someone trying to win—he was fighting like someone trying to bury something. And every time his fist missed my face, it drove him deeper into whatever hell he was trying to crawl out of.
"You don't get to accuse me of that!" he shouted, voice cracking. "You weren't even here!"
"And that makes it better?" I shouted back, driving him backward with a shove. "She was unconscious!"
He came at me again, and I ducked, barely dodging the blow. The wall behind me shook with the force of his punch. Paint cracked.
Ardere whimpered.
God.
I turned toward her—just for a second—and that's all it took for him to slam his elbow into my ribs. My body folded, white-hot pain stealing the air from my lungs. I staggered.
She whimpered again.
"Tallis—" I tried to growl, "She's right there. Look at her. LOOK at her!"
But he wasn't looking at anything except me. He was shaking with rage, with shame, with something else I couldn't name.
And then, behind us, a sound cut through it all.
Not a sob.
Not a scream.
But something raw. Something broken.
"…Yes."
My chest caved in.
"But it wasn't—" she rushed to add, shaking her head. "It wasn't like that. Okay? It's not a big deal."
"Not a big—?"
She laughed. Laughed. A low, frayed thing that didn't sound right in her throat. "It's not like it hasn't happened before. Me and Tallis—we've… you know. We've done that. A few times. Sometimes things blur. That's just how it's always been."
My stomach turned.
"You were high out of your mind, Ardere," I said slowly, dangerously.
She looked down. "I've been worse. It's not like I said no."
"You were unconscious," I snapped. "You couldn't say anything."
Her face hardened then. Not defensive—detached. "It wasn't the first time. Sometimes I… I don't know. I wake up next to him and it's just… happened. It's fine. That's just Tallis. That's just me."
And something in me—something I didn't know I'd been holding on to—snapped.
"No," I said, voice rising. "That's not you. That's what he made you believe was normal."
She flinched like I'd slapped her. But she didn't deny it.
She just stared.
I was still staring at her. At the empty way she said it. The way she curled into herself, like she was trying to disappear into her own skin. And I hated myself for asking. I hated Tallis more for making the question necessary.
Then his voice cut through the silence like a knife:
"See?" Tallis scoffed. "Told you she moaned."
The world stopped.
It took me a full second to register what he'd said.
Another second to stop myself from putting my fist through his teeth.
He was grinning. Fucking grinning. Like this was all some kind of twisted win. Like her pain didn't mean anything. Like he'd scored something and wanted me to know it.
My vision blurred.
"Dorian—" Ardere's voice was a ghost behind me.
But I couldn't do it.
Not with him still standing there.
Not with her looking like that.
Not with that bastard's words still echoing in my skull.
I turned on my heel and left. Stormed past the shattered lamp, past the door hanging off its hinges, past every single ounce of self-control I had left before it turned into something violent.
***
I slammed the door so hard behind me I felt the whole wall shudder.
The second it clicked shut, I launched my fist into the bookshelf. Wood cracked. A row of notebooks and some half-folded shirts came tumbling down. My knuckles burned, but it wasn't enough.
I wanted to tear something apart. Throw something through the goddamn wall. I wanted to go back in that room and—God, I didn't even know what I wanted anymore.
"She said it like it was normal," I snapped, pacing the floor like a caged animal. "Like it was fine. Like it's just something she lets him do to her."
Riven sat in the window seat, legs pulled up, a piece of string between his fingers that he kept twisting. He didn't look at me.
"I told you so," he said simply.
"That's it?" I barked. "That's all you've got to say?"
He shrugged without looking up. "You walked right into the fire with your eyes wide open. Don't act surprised it burned."
I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. "She was high, Riven. Barely coherent. And that freak—he smiled when he said it. Like it was a game. Like he won."
Riven finally met my eyes, deadpan. "And you're upset because?"
"Because she deserved better!" My voice cracked. I wasn't even yelling anymore—I was breaking. "Because she deserves someone who doesn't touch her when she's not there to say yes! Someone who doesn't treat her like a fucking thing he gets to keep."
Riven didn't blink. "And she picked him."
I slumped down into the corner of my bed, holding my head in both hands, trying to breathe.
Riven tossed the string aside and said, "You're not going to save her by bleeding all over the floor, you know."
"By tonight," I spat, "she's gonna have him back in her bed like nothing happened."
Riven said nothing.
"She'll laugh it off. She'll act like I was being dramatic. Like I'm just the idiot who overreacted because I care too much."
Still nothing.
I turned to him, daring him to say it again. "And you know what? She will. She'll let him back in. He'll wrap his arms around her, and she'll let him pretend like he didn't rip her in half just last night. Like he didn't destroy her and brag about it."
Riven tilted his head slightly. "So what? You wanted her to cry in your arms instead? Beg you to stay?"
"No!" I snapped. But the heat behind it told the truth.
I did.
I did want that. I wanted her to look at me and realize what she's worth. I wanted her to say it mattered. That she mattered. That what happened to her wasn't okay. That I wasn't crazy for thinking it wasn't okay.
But instead—she shrugged it off like a cigarette burn she was used to getting.
"She doesn't see it," I said, voice quieter now. "She doesn't see him for what he is."
"And you do?"
"I see enough," I growled. "Enough to know that every time she lets him back in, she loses more of herself."
The words slipped out before I even knew I was saying them.
"I told her I loved her."
Riven blinked slowly, like I'd just switched languages. "You what?"
"Last night," I muttered, rubbing the heel of my hand against my forehead. "When she was barely breathing. I thought—she looked so bad, Riven. Like she wasn't gonna make it. And I just—" I sucked in a breath. "I panicked, okay? I said it. I told her I loved her."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Riven lost it.
He laughed so hard he fell halfway off the window ledge, clutching his ribs like I'd just delivered the punchline to the best joke he'd heard all year.
"Oh my god, Dorian," he wheezed, "that is the saddest confession story I've ever heard in my life."
"Shut the hell up," I snapped, heat burning in my cheeks.
"While she was dying?" he cried, tears actually brimming in his eyes. "You hit her with the L-word like it was a last rite—'Forgive me Father, for I've simped'!"
I threw a pillow at his face. He didn't even try to dodge.
"She didn't even hear me," I muttered. "Or maybe she did and just pretended she didn't."
Riven wiped his eyes, still grinning like a maniac. "You romantic little dumbass."
"Yeah, well. I thought she was going to die, Riven. What the hell else was I supposed to say?"
"Literally anything but that."
I hadn't even gotten a chance to shove Riven out of my room when there was a knock at the door—followed by it opening, because why would anyone in this house respect basic privacy?
Ardere stood there.
Still pale. Still raw in the face like she'd wiped tears away too fast, like they might still be lurking in the corners of her eyes. But she'd come here anyway. Probably to explain herself. To patch things up. Or maybe just to twist the knife.
"Dorian," she said quietly. "Can we—?"
"Oh no," Riven cut in from the window ledge, breathless and grinning. "Please. Tell me you remember Dorian's dramatic little love confession from last night."
Everything froze.
Ardere's mouth snapped shut. Her eyes darted to me, wide. Caught.
I could feel my pulse spike, like I'd just been dunked in ice water.
"Riven," I said through my teeth, but he was already on a roll.
"He was holding your hand," Riven continued, delighting in every word like it was oxygen. "Whispering sweet nothings while you were gasping like a fish. It was tragic."
"Riven." My voice came out sharper. Louder.
Ardere blinked once. "You… said that?"
"Jesus Christ," I muttered, raking a hand through my hair. "Get out, Riven."
He stood, hands up, but with that shit-eating grin still plastered to his face. "I'm just saying, if you're gonna drop the L-bomb mid-medical emergency, maybe don't do it in front of me next time."
He brushed past Ardere with a wink and a low whistle. "Good luck."
The door clicked shut behind him.
And then it was just us.
Me—boiling.
Her—quiet.
The silence between us was suddenly louder than Riven had ever been.
She didn't say anything.
Didn't flinch. Didn't run. Just stood there in the doorway like she'd braced for it—like she wanted me to lose it.
And hell, I gave her what she wanted.
"You know what pisses me off the most?" I said, stepping forward. "It's not even that Tallis touched you. It's not that you let him. It's not that you act like it's fine. It's that you keep standing there like you didn't just shatter me and expect me to play nice."
She didn't look away.
"Don't you get it?" I said, louder now, gesturing wildly. "I stayed up all night thinking you were gonna die. I carried you. I begged you to breathe. And then I told you—because I thought it might be the last thing you ever heard—I told you that I loved you."
Still, she didn't move.
"And then I wake up," I laughed bitterly, "and you're back in his grasp. Like none of it meant anything. Like you didn't hear a damn word I said. Like what he did to you doesn't matter."
She swallowed, her throat bobbing slightly. But she didn't interrupt. Not once.
"And you know what's so sick?" I went on. "You're acting like I'm the problem. Like I'm overreacting. Like this is just some casual disaster I should be fine with."
Silence.
I stared at her. Waiting. Daring her to say something. Anything.
But she didn't.
She didn't cry. She didn't yell. She didn't even flinch when I raised my voice.
She just stood there, arms loose at her sides, eyes glassy but dry.
And I hated how that made me feel even more.
"Say something," I finally snapped. "Defend yourself. Lie to me if you have to. Just stop looking at me like you agree."
Still, nothing.
It was worse than being screamed at.
It was worse than being hit.
She blinked slowly, like it took effort just to pull her thoughts together. Her voice was quiet when it came, barely more than breath.
"You don't get it," she said.
My jaw clenched. "No. I don't. So go ahead, Ardere. Help me get it."
She finally moved, crossing her arms—not defensive, just holding herself like she was cold and didn't want to admit it.
"I didn't go back to him because I wanted to hurt you," she said. "Or because what happened didn't matter. I went back because it's what I know. Because it's easier to pretend it wasn't a big deal than admit what it actually was."
I shook my head. "And what was it?"
She looked away.
That silence again. Stretching. Sharp.
"I don't know how to be angry about it," she whispered. "I don't even know how to be hurt. Because it's not the first time. And that's the part you don't get."
It hit like a punch to the chest.
And I hated her for saying it so calmly. Like it was just another piece of furniture in the room. Another scar she learned to live around.
"I'm not built like you," she added. "You feel things and fight for them. I feel things and try to survive them. That's all I've ever done."
I laughed—short, ugly, bitter. "So survival means crawling back into the arms of the guy who—"
"Stop," she snapped, just once. Her voice cracked on it. "Don't finish that sentence unless you want me to leave and never come back."
I stared at her. She stared back.
And for the first time all day, she actually looked alive—not numb, not detached. Just tired. So tired.
"I'm not trying to make excuses," she said. "I'm trying to make you understand that I don't know how to make this right. Not with you. Not with myself."
I didn't know what I was doing. I was exhausted and furious and shaking from everything I hadn't let myself feel since this morning. But I looked at her—really looked—and all I could think was:
I can't let him win again tonight.
"I want you to sleep here," I said.
She blinked at me, like I'd just started speaking another language.
"I don't mean—I'm not asking for anything," I added quickly, running a hand through my hair. "Not a kiss. Not to touch you. Not sex. I just—I just need to know he's not spending another night crawling into your bed like none of this matters."
Her lips parted, but I kept going.
"I'll sleep on the floor. Hell, I'll sleep outside the door if that makes it easier for you. I just—"
"No."
That one word cut through everything. Sharp. Final.
But her eyes weren't hard. They were full of something else. Something I couldn't name.
She stepped forward, close enough that I could see the tiny tremble in her hands before she tucked them into her sleeves.
"You're not sleeping on the floor," she said. "You're not sleeping outside. You're not punishing yourself like this."
I swallowed. "Then what am I supposed to do?"
She exhaled, and it sounded like she was crumbling from the inside out. "Move over."
"What?"
"Move. Over," she repeated. "I'll stay. Just—don't talk. Not yet. Just... let me be here."
I hesitated. "Ardere, I meant it when I said—"
"I know what you meant." Her voice cracked, but she didn't look away this time. "I want to sleep. Just sleep. That's all. Please."
So I moved.
And she climbed into my bed like someone too tired to run anymore.
We didn't touch. We didn't speak.
But the silence felt different now.
—
Ardere had fallen asleep fast—like her body had finally been given permission to shut down. And now, hours later, she was still completely out. Not tossing. Not mumbling. Just breathing soft and steady beside me.
Except.
She kept drifting closer.
I hadn't touched her. I'd made sure of it. I'd stayed on my side like I promised, not even letting the blanket brush against her too much. But sometime in during, her legs tangled with mine. Then her hand found the edge of my shirt. Her forehead pressed into my shoulder.
Every time I shifted, trying to untangle without waking her, she followed. Like her unconscious self was chasing heat, or gravity, or something she was starving for and didn't want to admit.
I turned onto my side.
She turned too, instantly.
The moment I breathed deeper—like I might be getting up—she clutched a fistful of my shirt in her sleep. Not rough. Just... desperate. Like even in dreams, she was bracing for me to leave.
It was stupid. It was nothing.
Except it wasn't.
She didn't even know she was doing it, and it still hit me like a punch to the chest.
I lay there, barely breathing, while she kept burrowing closer.
So touch-starved she couldn't help but chase it, even in her sleep.
And I hated that I understood that feeling.
I hated that he'd taken advantage of it.
And I hated myself more for not knowing how to fix it.
I tried again—slowly, carefully—to pull away. Her fingers had gone slack for a moment, and I thought I had the window.
But the second I moved, her breath hitched. Then her arm looped around my waist like it had a mission.
"Wait," she whispered, barely awake. Her voice was scratchy and small. "Don't… go."
I froze. Her forehead was still against my chest, and I could feel the way her eyelashes fluttered as she fought to wake up, dragging herself up from the fog.
"I'm not going far," I muttered, soft enough that maybe she wouldn't even hear it. "Just stretching."
"Stay stretched right here," she mumbled, clutching tighter. "You promised."
"I am. I'm right here."
She blinked slowly up at me, eyes glassy from sleep. Then she said something that made my chest cave in.
"Take your shirt off."
My eyebrows shot up. "What?"
"I like your warmth," she said, quieter now, embarrassed even as she buried her face back into me. "It's softer. Skin's better than fabric."
For a second, I just stared at her. Not because I didn't want to. But because I wasn't sure what she meant. If she was asking for comfort—or asking for something more.
But her breathing stayed steady. Her hand didn't roam. She didn't press or pull or tease.
She just… wanted me.
Not for sex. Not for anything.
Just for the warmth. The closeness.
So, I gave it to her.
I pulled my shirt over my head and let her settle in again. Her palm pressed flat to my ribs, and her face relaxed instantly against my skin, like I'd just solved some riddle her body had been begging me to answer all night.
She was quiet for a long time.
I thought she'd drifted off again, the weight of her hand soft against my ribs, her cheek pressed into my chest like it belonged there. I stared up at the ceiling, too awake, too angry, too messed up to sleep.
But then I felt her shift—just a little. Enough to make my heart stutter.
"Can I ask you something?" she whispered.
Her voice was too gentle. Careful, like she was picking her way across glass in the dark. I didn't say anything right away—just nodded. I felt her hesitate.
"Can you… wrap your arms around me?"
I blinked, surprised by how small the request was. And how big it must've felt for her to say.
"I know it's dumb," she added quickly, like she was already retreating. "It's just—people don't usually do that unless they want something. I mean, Tallis used to, but it always meant something else. And you said you didn't want that tonight, and I'm not trying to turn this into that, I just…"
I shifted onto my side before she could finish. I pulled her in slowly—gently—so she wouldn't think I was doing it out of pity or pressure. Just because I wanted to.
Her breath caught. Then she let out a shaky exhale and pressed her face to my collarbone.
I wrapped my arms around her like it was the most normal thing in the world. But I could feel it in her—how unnatural it felt to her. How unfamiliar. She didn't quite know what to do with it.
Like she was waiting for the catch. The condition. The ask that usually came next.
But there wasn't one.
"…I like the way you smell."
I blinked, not sure I'd heard her right.
She didn't clarify, just nuzzled closer, like that counted as punctuation.
"It's nice," she added after a beat. "Comforting. I don't know. You just… always smell like something safe."
That one hit harder than it should've.
Not because it was the strangest confession I'd ever heard—but because it was so honest. So unguarded.
And maybe that was what undid me.
Because she wasn't teasing. Wasn't trying to flirt or manipulate or push some emotional button. She was just saying it like it mattered. Like it explained something she didn't know how to say any other way.
"I don't think anyone's ever said that to me before," I murmured, brushing her hair back gently.
She made a soft sound in her throat. "You should keep wearing the same soap. Or cologne. Or whatever it is."
"I don't wear cologne."
"…Then definitely don't start."
I smiled, just a little. She was already slipping back under, breaths deepening again. But her hand stayed curled at my side, like it had something to hold onto for once.
***
I woke up to the sound of Ardere screaming.
Not panicked screaming. Not even pain screaming. Just sheer, startled, someone's-in-my-room-and-might-be-a-demon screaming.
I shot upright so fast I nearly knocked her off the bed. My heart slammed against my ribs. I reached blindly for the knife under my pillow—
"Dorian!" Ardere scrambled, pulling the blanket up to her chest like that was going to protect her from whatever was in the corner.
I turned.
And there he was.
Riven.
Sitting in the goddamn chair in the corner like a gremlin, legs spread, beer in one hand, smirk in full bloom.
He raised the bottle in a lazy salute. "Finally. Took you two long enough."
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I barked, pushing off the mattress, all blood still screaming emergency. "You scared her half to death!"
"Oh relax, she's fine." He took a sip, completely unfazed. "I knocked, by the way. You two were just too busy spooning and radiating emotional repression to hear me."
Ardere had gone silent now, staring at him like he'd grown antlers.
"Why are you even here?" I snapped.
He grinned. "To drag you two lovebirds out. There's a party. It's raging. There's fire. Someone's already broken a chair over someone else's back. And—I kid you not—someone challenged the twins to a duel over who makes the best cider."
"…Is that what this is about?" Ardere asked, still looking shaken. "You broke into our room for cider?"
"Don't make this sound petty. This is tradition." Riven stood, stretched like a cat, and gestured between us. "Now, get dressed. You look like you had a rough night of not having sex. That's tragic. Let's fix it with fire and fruit-based alcohol. Ten minutes. If you're not out by then, I'm dragging you both out naked."
As soon as Riven's footsteps disappeared down the hall, I turned to Ardere.
"You know we don't have to go," I said quietly. "It's just Riven being Riven. He can throw a tantrum all he wants—he's not going to haul us out by force."
Ardere was still sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, hair a tangle around her face. When she looked up, her expression was unreadable—but I'd spent enough time with her to know when she was bracing for a fight.
"Let me guess," she said flatly. "You don't want to go because you think I'll get high again."
"That's not—"
"Because it is, isn't it?" She stood, arms crossed, like she needed the posture to hold herself together. "You think I can't be trusted around a campfire and bad music without snorting something off the bark of a tree."
I exhaled through my nose. "That's not fair."
"I never said it was."
The words hung there for a second. She looked away, jaw clenched, shoulders tight. Then, a moment later, softer:
"I said I'd behave, didn't I?"
"You shouldn't have to promise that," I said. "That shouldn't be something you feel like you have to prove."
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she walked toward the closet and grabbing my jacket, throwing it over her arm like it weighed nothing—though I knew it did.
"I'm not trying to prove anything, Dorian," she said over her shoulder. "I just want to feel normal for five minutes. Sit by a fire. Pretend people actually want me there. Pretend I'm not just some ticking time bomb someone's always trying to manage."
I didn't know what to say to that. Not without sounding like I was managing her.
So I didn't argue.
I just walked over, gently took the jacket from her hand, and held it out for her to put on.
She hesitated. Then sighed. "You're still going to hover the whole night, aren't you?"
"Absolutely," I said. "And I'll be very annoying about it".