The drive back to the hospital passed in fragments. Her mind kept circling back to green-gold eyes and the way his voice had curled around "little thief" with dark affection. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to ignore how alive the fruit felt resting in her lap.
You'll learn what happens when someone tries to steal from me twice.
Heat crawled up her neck at the memory, not entirely from fear. She cranked the air conditioning higher, but it didn't help. The mark pulsed, and with each throb came phantom sensations. His thumb on her lip. His breath against her ear. The way he'd backed her against that tree like he had all the time in the world to play with his prey.
By the time she reached the hospital parking garage, reality had started to reassert itself. Allegra was unconscious and had been for days. How was she supposed to feed an unconscious child a magic fruit? The mere thought alone nearly had her laughing at the absurdity of it. The logical part of her brain scrambled for solutions. Mash it up? Pour juice down her throat? That could kill her if she started to choke.
The fruit grew warm in her hand, and suddenly she knew. The knowledge slipped into her mind with smooth certainty, foreign but absolute.Juice on her lips first. Just a drop. She'll wake enough to take the rest.
Briar shuddered. His voice? Her imagination? The line between them blurred, and she couldn't tell which frightened her more.
The elevator ride up to pediatric intensive care stretched eternal. Every reflective surface seemed to hold shadows that moved wrong, depths that shouldn't exist in polished steel. The mark on her wrist ached beneath her sleeve, a constant reminder of what she'd done. She’d sold her soul to the devil in the forest.
Not your soul, she corrected herself as the elevator climbed.Your life.
Somehow that felt worse. A soul was abstract, theological. A life was every sunrise she'd never see, every birthday she'd miss, every ordinary moment stolen away to feed an immortal's patience.
The elevator dinged. It was time to save her sister.
Everything else would have to wait.
A nurse smiled at her in the hallway as she made her way towards Allegra’s room, and Briar had to force her face into something resembling normal. Had to pretend she wasn't carrying impossible fruit and binding marks and the memory of inhuman beauty that made her stomach flip.
The hospital room was eerily quiet when Briar slipped inside. No alarms, no rushing staff, just the soft hiss of oxygen and her sister's too-still form in the bed. Allegra looked like a porcelaindoll against the white sheets, all translucent skin and blue-veined eyelids. So small. So fragile.
Their mother was nowhere to be seen. Probably in the chapel again, bargaining with a different kind of deity. One that didn't require blood prices and forest vows.
Briar approached the bed on unsteady legs, the fruit heavy in her hands. Under the fluorescent lighting, it looked wrong—too vibrant, too alive. Its glow seemed to pulse in rhythm with the mark on her wrist, two pieces of the same impossible whole.
What if it doesn't work? What if it's poison? What if—
The mark flared hot, cutting through her spiral of doubts. She'd already paid the price. This had to work. There was no alternative now.
With trembling fingers, she split the fruit. It came apart easily, too easily, revealing flesh that shimmered like liquid ruby. Seeds gleamed within like drops of fresh blood. The scent that rose from it defied description—summer rain and dark honey and something achingly sweet that made her mouth water despite her fear.
Juice on her lips first.
Briar squeezed a single drop onto Allegra's pale mouth. For a heartbeat, nothing. Then her sister's lips parted slightly, tongue darting out to catch the sweetness.
"That's it," Briar whispered, her voice thick. "That's my girl."
Allegra's eyes fluttered without opening. A soft sound escaped her—not quite awake, but reaching for consciousness like a swimmer breaking for air. Briar pressed the fruit to her sister's lips, feeding her small pieces, watching her swallow instinctively. Drop by drop. Seed by seed. Every last shred of glowing flesh, until nothing remained but stained fingers and the lingering scent of impossible summer.
Then... nothing.
Allegra lay still as before, though perhaps her breathing seemed deeper. Less labored. Briar took her sister's small hand between both of hers, careful of the IV line, and settled in to wait.
"Come on, Ally," she whispered. "Come back."
Minutes crawled by. The mark on her wrist settled into a dull ache, almost companionable now. Outside the window, afternoon bled into evening, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose. Briar's eyes grew heavy. The chair was uncomfortable, but her body knew its contours intimately after days of vigil. She knew exactly how to curl into the least painful position, knew which armrest to use as a pillow.
She didn't mean to fall asleep.
Small fingers flexed in her grip.
Briar jerked awake, disoriented. The room had dimmed, machines casting their blue-green glow across the walls. But Allegra—
"Bri?" Her sister's voice was hoarse but beautifully, wonderfully there. "Why are you crying?"
