I'm at the bathroom door in three strides. "Eden."
"I'm fine."
She's not fine. I can hear it in her voice—the strain, the ragged edge.
"Didn't sound fine."
"I just—" Another clatter. Something small bouncing off porcelain. "I dropped something. I'm fine."
"Let me help."
"I don't need—"
"Open the door or I'm coming in."
She doesn't answer. Through the wood, I can hear her breathing too fast.
"Eden."
"Fine." The word scrapes out of her. "It's unlocked."
I push the door open.
She's on the floor.
Braced against the cabinet under the sink, one leg twisted awkwardly beneath her. Gauze tangles around her right hand. The wound on her shoulder seeps fresh blood—not a lot, but enough to stain the collar of Nova's sweater bright red. The antiseptic bottle lies on its side, leaking into the bathmat. Butterfly bandages scatter across the tile.
She looks up at me, jaw clenched, eyes bright with fury and shame.
"I had it under control."
"Clearly."
"I almost—"
"You almost cracked your head open on the sink." I crouch down, and she's smaller than I realized. Crumpled against the cabinet, fingers tangled in gauze where she'd been trying to do this herself. "Let me see your hand."
"I can—"
"You can't." I take her wrist. Her pulse jumps under my thumb. "Hold still."
The gauze has wound around three of her fingers, pulled tight enough to cut off circulation. I work it loose, careful not to tear the skin. Her hand is half the size of mine, fine-boned and soft.
She's watching me. I can feel it.
"Can you stand?"
"I think my foot's asleep."
"That's the leg you're sitting on." I finish with the gauze, toss it aside. "I'm going to help you up. That okay?"
A beat. Then she nods.
I slide one hand under her arm, the other at her waist. She's warm through Nova's sweater. Lighter than I expected when I lift her—barely any weight at all.
I set her on the edge of the tub. Step back. Put distance between us.
Her cheeks are flushed. She's not looking at me.
