Her eyes found mine. Found the position of my body between her thighs. Found the stretch of me inside her, my knot half-formed and pressing against her entrance. Something flickered across her face, confusion first, then recognition, then something more complicated that I couldn't read. Her breath hitched, her body tensing around me, and I held myself completely still, terrified of what she might say.
"Mason?" Her voice was barely a whisper, cracked and weak from disuse, rough as sandpaper. Just my name. A question and an accusation and a plea all wrapped into one broken syllable.
"You were dying," I said, the words tumbling out of me in a desperate rush, my voice cracking on every other word as tears continued to stream down my face. "Bond sickness. Your heartwas failing. The doctor said— he said this was the only way, and I couldn't just watch you— I couldn't let you?—"
I was rambling, I knew I was rambling, but I couldn't stop, couldn't stem the flood of words pouring out of me like a confession. Her expression didn't change, didn't shift from that unreadable blankness, and the silence from her was worse than any anger could have been.
"I'm sorry," I choked out, my whole body trembling, my hands fisting in the sheets on either side of her hips. "I'm so sorry, Ava. I know— I know you couldn't give consent. I know this isn't— this isn't right. Hate me if you need to. I'll deserve it. I'll deserve whatever you?—"
"Stop." The word was barely audible, a breath more than a voice, but it cut through my spiral like a knife. Her hand moved — trembling, weak, barely able to lift from the bed — and her fingers brushed against my wrist. Not pushing me away. Not pulling me closer. Just... touching. Grounding herself.
Her eyes were wet now, tears leaking from the corners, sliding down her temples into her hair. She didn't sob, didn't make a sound, just lay there with tears streaming silently down her face while I remained frozen inside her, terrified to move, terrified to breathe.
"Ava," Caleb whispered, his voice wrecked, his hand tightening around hers. "Ava, please say something. Please."
She closed her eyes. For a long moment, she just breathed, shallow, shaky breaths that made her chest rise and fall beneath the shirt we'd dressed her in. I could feel her emotions through the bond, muted and confused, a tangle of things I couldn't separate: fear and relief and grief and something else, something deeper that I couldn't name.
When she opened her eyes again, they found mine.
"I died," she whispered, the words barely more than a breath, her voice hollow and distant like she was speaking from very far away. "In the snow. I felt it. I was dying."
"You almost did," I confirmed, my voice rough, my throat tight with tears. "We found you just in time. But the bond sickness— your body thought we'd abandoned you. It was shutting down."
She absorbed that, her gaze distant, unfocused, like she was remembering something. The snow, maybe. The cold. The feeling of slipping away. Her fingers twitched against my wrist, and I felt a shudder run through her body.
"I wanted to come back," she said, so quiet I almost didn't hear it, her eyes still fixed on some point beyond me, some memory I couldn't see. "In the snow. I wanted... I wanted to come home."
"You're home now," Leo said roughly, his fingers still moving through her hair, his voice thick with emotion he was trying to hide. "You're here. You're safe."
She didn't respond to that. Her gaze drifted back to me, to the place where our bodies were still joined, and I watched her throat work as she swallowed.
"It hurts," she whispered, and for a moment I thought she meant me, meant this, meant what I was doing to her. My heart seized in my chest. But then she lifted her hand — that weak, trembling hand — and pressed it against her sternum, against her heart. "Here. It hurts here. Like something was... broken. And now it's..."
"The bond," Ethan said softly, his voice strained but steady, his eyes fixed on his tablet even as tears tracked down his cheeks. "It was damaged by the separation. By the sickness. It's healing now. That's what you're feeling."
She nodded slowly, like the movement cost her everything she had. Her eyes fluttered, exhaustion pulling at her, and Ifelt her body soften around me, the tension draining out of her muscles.
"Tired," she murmured, her eyelids drooping, her fingers going slack against my wrist. "So tired."
"I know," I whispered, and carefully, slowly, I began to move again, not thrusting, not chasing my own release, just small, gentle movements designed to work my knot the rest of the way inside her. She needed the hormones. She needed the bond reinforcement. She needed to survive. "I know you are. Just rest. We've got you."
She didn't respond, already slipping back toward unconsciousness, her body giving in to the exhaustion that had been held at bay only by crisis. But before her eyes closed completely, she looked at me one more time, and something passed between us, not forgiveness, not yet, but something. Understanding, maybe. Or the beginning of it.
"Don't leave," she breathed, the words slurred with exhaustion, her eyes fluttering closed. "Don't... don't leave me alone."
"Never," I promised, my voice breaking on the word, tears streaming freely down my face as my knot finally locked inside her, swelling to its full size, binding us together. "Never again, Ava. We're right here. We're not going anywhere."
She was unconscious again before I finished speaking, her body going limp and soft beneath me, but her breathing was stronger now, steadier. The blue tinge had faded from her lips. And through the bond, I could feel her, not the confused, muted presence from before, but something warmer, something closer, something that felt like relief.
"Her vitals are stabilizing," Ethan said, his voice thick with emotion, his usual clinical detachment nowhere to be found. Tears streamed down his face, unacknowledged, as he staredat his tablet with desperate hope. "Heart rate is normal. Stress hormones are dropping rapidly. She's... she's going to be okay."
Caleb made a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh, pressing his face into Ava's shoulder as his body shook with relief. Leo leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, his hands trembling where they cradled her face, his breath coming in shaky gasps. I collapsed forward, carefully keeping my weight off her, my face buried in the curve of her neck as I breathed in her scent — still sour with sickness, but warming, sweetening, starting to smell like her again.
"I'm sorry," I whispered against her skin, the words inadequate for the enormity of what I felt, for the guilt that would never fully leave me, for the knowledge of what I'd done to save her. "I'm so sorry."
She didn't respond, couldn't respond, lost to exhaustion and the healing sleep her body desperately needed. But her hand was still touching my wrist, her fingers curled loosely around my arm, and she hadn't pushed me away.
It wasn't forgiveness. It wasn't absolution. But it was something. For now, it was enough.
