Damien and Magnus are sweeping through the castle with Ragna, looking for anyone still hiding. Then they’ll start questioning our temporary detainees, to separate innocent bystanders from those in league with Need. Magnus is certain he can tell the difference, simply by reading their emotions. Hopefully, it means no one will be locked in a cell for too long.
Morgana is working on building new wards, and Arianna is going to join her after handling Cerberus.
When we left the front courtyard, the murder-puppy was still gorging himself on injured guards. A small part of me is concerned by how Arianna seemed loath to stop him.
Mostly, though, I want to know how my somewhat psychotic bestie is planning to control the giant, mostly murderous, three-headed dog. But when I asked, she shoved me toward the castle, muttering that “micromanaging isn’t cute.”
Her hands were caked in dried blood when she did it. I didn’t push back.
Freed prisoners have been steadily trickling in and out of the castle grounds. A few hundred have families they want to check on. And since many are too weak to apparate, or simply don’t have the ability, volunteers have been working tirelessly to get them home.
Others are helping with castle clearing, and even now, more people are arriving at the infirmary, asking Rosie if they can help.
Morgana suggested I help with healing, so I’ve been busy cleaning injury after injury. I’m pretty sure she meant I should use my Creator power, but after what happened earlier, I’m terrified to touch that energy.
At first, I thought it was miraculous that I didn’t kill anyone when I tore the castle apart. Until, of course, I voiced the thought to Morgana. She shrugged and noted that anyone in the crossfire probably wouldn’t have left a body behind.
Her words sent ice up my spine.
I definitely should not have been entrusted with that much power.
Then again, after meeting Clotho, I’m not surprised.
She seems unqualified for her job.
I haven’t seen the Fate since we escaped the prison, but I’m assuming she went to her sisters. I won’t pretend I’m eager to see her again.
My forearms cramp as I wring out the cloth.
How long has it been since I slept for more than a few broken hours?
I think the answer depends on whether I can count being knocked out as sleeping.
It probably counts.
My body definitely hasn’t gotten the memo that we’re safe. It feels like I’m riddled with bullet holes, and every breath I take causes them to expand, sending more of my lifeblood spilling to the floor.
I think it’s just an adrenaline crash.
But I can’t stop.
If I do, I know the trauma will catch up to me. Already, I can see Leon’s crazed eyes every time I blink. The last time I paused for more than a few minutes, I could feel his breath ghosting against my skin.
Keeping busy is the only thing stopping me from crumbling.
“Kitten,” Sin warns again, giving a pointed look at my trembling hands.
He’s sitting beside me, using his Destroyer powers to remove bacteria and debris from wounds. Our bodies are pressed against each other, and even though this might not be the most appropriate place to cuddle, the physical contact feels like a tether to reality.
He’s the only thing stopping me from dissociating completely. Still, I can’t keep being selfish. I know he’s needed for more important duties.
When we have a short lull between patients, I bring it up again, “Sin, I’m okay, really.”
Lie.
“You should go help with the wards,” I urge.
He barely spares me a glance. “No.”
