His name tore from her throat like glass. The sound of her soul trying to claw its way out. She reached for him with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. Blood soaked her palms the moment she touched him. There was too much of it. Gods, too much.
He was looking up at her, dazed. His lips moved. She leaned in close, gripping his face between her hands like she could hold him together with touch alone.
“I’m here,” she whispered, over and over, voice cracking on every word. “I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.”
But he was slipping. His eyes fluttered open once more, glassy and unfocused. He smiled but then choked. A wet, rattling sound escaped his throat as blood slipped past his lips and trailed down his chin.
“Tell Sir Cedric—” he whispered, and the words broke apart, barely carried by breath. His eyes stayed open. Gazing at something far away.
That was all.
Because then he was gone. With silence so loud it roared in her ears.
Evelyne didn’t move at first. Couldn’t. Her breath caught somewhere between her chest and her throat.
This was agony.
Raw and endless. A living wound.
Like walking barefoot on shattered glass while swallowing molten iron with every breath. Pain so vast it eclipsed sound, light, logic.
“No,” she said, but it wasn’t a word. It was air twisted into denial.
She bent over him, hands reaching with nowhere to land. One hovered near his cheek. The other clenched helplessly at the fabric of his blue tunic. Someone dragged her back, an arm around her neck, pulling her away from her brother, but she kicked. Clawed. Screamed like an animal.
“Don’t touch him!” she screamed. “Thalen—THALEN—”
But the boy didn’t move.
“Well, well,” said the tattooed mercenary, dropping her on the stone. “Don’t struggle, princess. I need you warm. And afterward, I’ll take my turn before you’re cold.”
No. No… no, no, no…Thalen!
She lurched forward on all fours and vomited. The taste of fear and nausea was sharp on her tongue. She heard the mercenary laughing.
“Oh, don’t fall apart on me yet,” he snarled, circling. His boots ground broken stone beneath them. “You haven’t even seen what comes next.”
She tried to crawl backward, but he walked faster. A kick to her side. Her breath caught, a dry sob lodging in her throat.
Thalen…
“You nobles think you're gods behind your walls,” he sneered, crouching low beside her. “But strip away the silks, art, the titles... and what’s left? Just a body. A pretty one, granted.” His fingers reached toward her cheek.
She struck him.
It wasn’t elegant. It was raw, instinctive. Her fist connected with his face, and he recoiled with a surprised grunt. Pain flared in her palm.
His grin returned, bloodied and twisted. “Ah. There she is.”
He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her forward, dragging her upright until her feet barely touched the ground. The pain burst behind her eyes like a white-hot star. She screamed in rage.
Do not touch me!
And then—
She felt it. In her veins. In her bones.
Like remembering something that had never happened, yet belonged to her all the same. The mercenary sensed it too. His grip loosened enough to release her. The man lunged for her again, but she stumbled backward, her foot slicing on shattered stone.
