"Because I’m not bound to them the way you are, Araya.” Serafina’s voice softened, but the words were no less sharp. “I don’t have to wonder who I am when I look in the mirror. Can you say the same?”
Araya shoved her chair back with a loud scrape, her hands shaking as she grabbed her cloak from the back of it. “This was a mistake.” She stood, sweeping her cloak around her shoulders. "Sorry to bother you?—”
“Wait.” Serafina stood, her expression grim. “You’re not leaving without what you need.”
Araya turned slowly, watching as Serafina crossed to the supply cabinet and pulled out a worn leather medical kit. With the practiced ease of someone who had done this a hundred times, she beganfilling it methodically—packing in bandages, suture kits, and small glass vials of antiseptic.
Finally, Serafina climbed onto the counter to retrieve a small jar from the locked storage cabinet—the one reserved for rare, carefully monitored treatments. She wrapped it carefully in linen before tucking it into the bag.
“For the iron burns,” she said quietly. “It’s highly regulated. Use it sparingly. This is all I can spare without flagging the Inquisitors.”
She added a small, worn book to the pile. “This is a basic primer on Healing—there are instructions for burns, wounds…anything you might be dealing with.”
“Thank you.” Araya took the bag, her voice shaking. “This is—just thank you, Serafina.”
Serafina nodded. “Wearestill friends, Araya,” she said, pulling her into a tight hug. “Even if we can’t tell each other everything. Even if it’s hard.”
Araya’s throat tightened, the ache in her chest almost unbearable. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
“I know.” Serafina pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, her expression somber—tired in a way Araya hadn’t noticed before. “But I’m still here. And if you ever need me…” She squeezed Araya’s hand. “I’m here. Just…try not to lose yourself, Araya. He’s not worth it.”
Araya swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “I should go.”
Serafina walked her to the door, lingering on the threshold, and for just a moment, Araya hesitated, longing to stay in a place she’d once belonged. But Araya’s choice here had been made months ago, when she agreed to give Jaxon her bond.
The driver closed the door behind her with a heavy thud, the carriage lurching forward a moment later. Araya stared out the window, not even seeing the streets of Aetheris as they blurred past. Instead, her hand tightened around the worn bag Serafina had given her, the leather handle biting into her palm as her friend’s warning echoed in her mind.
Don’t lose yourself.
But what if it was already too late? What if the choices she had made—the ones she was still making—had already stolen parts of her she could never get back?
Araya strode down the corridor,her footsteps echoing off the stone as she blazed past the long procession of iron doors. It was cold outside, but the chill down here was different—it leeched the warmth from her bones, making her shiver despite her cloak.
“Miss Starwind,” the guard greeted her with a nod as she approached Loren’s door.
“Aeron.” Araya mustered a thin smile, her gaze flicking to the heavy iron door. “How is he?”
The guard frowned, confusion clouding his features. “Who?”
“Loren,” she clarified, her voice tightening. “The prisoner.”
“No one’s heard anything from in there.” Aeron shrugged, his tone indifferent. “We don’t go in. Takes two keys to open the door.” He gestured to the untouched tray on the table beside him. “All I know is, he didn’t eat.”
Araya’s stomach twisted at the sight of the gray, pasty gruel, the bread crust speckled with mold. “No one’s been inside? At all?”
Aeron’s expression turned defensive. “Not since you, miss.”
“So he could be dead in there and you wouldn’t know?” Araya dug for her key, drawing it out of the interior pocket of her cloak. “Open the door.”
“Sorry, miss.” Aeron shook his head. “Jaxon wanted to see you first—said to send you down to the workshop.”
“Of course he did.” Araya stepped back, her fingers curling into a fist around the key as she stared at the iron door. She glared at the guard. “When I come back—there needs to be warm clothing, blankets…and actual, decent food. Food that you would be willing to eat.”
“Master Jaxon will have to approve that,” Aeron called after her as she stormed down the hall.
“He will,” Araya snapped, not bothering to turn back to reply.
She found Jaxon exactly where Aeron said he would be—seated at one of the newly cleared workbenches with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, head bent over a mess of glass tubing and delicate brass couplings. Half a distillation rig had already taken shape, the blown glass flasks etched with delicate runes, just waiting to be activated.
