~Amias's Point Of View~
The school sleeps, but Amias doesn't.
The fight with Darien still crackles in his bones like static, bruises singing with every breath he takes. The moonlight cuts through his curtains in cold slivers, painting the walls in pale silver. He sits on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tight his knuckles go white.
His room smells like iron and soap. It's the aftermath of trying to wash away blood that didn't come off completely. He can still see Darien's face in flashes. He can see the fury, the pain, and the wild helplessness that mirrored his own.
He understands that anger. Hell, he breathes it because if the twins' marks on Heidi had burned Darien's pride, they'd carved through Amias's soul.
He drags a hand down his face, fingers trembling against the sting of a split lip. His jaw aches from Darien's punch, but the physical pain feels merciful compared to the other kind… the one gnawing beneath his ribs.
