Kayden does, setting the carton aside.
"What do you need, Sage? Can we do anything for you?" Asher asks.
I shake my head. Even trying to think hurts.
Then I hear voices on the stairs.
"Is she… is she back?" Donna asks.
I turn to her. She's standing halfway down, eyes cautious, shoulders tight. Tomas lingers just behind her, gaze sweepingthe room. Neither of them crosses the last step, like coming closer might break something fragile.
And then it hits—memories rushing in all at once.
The bite.
The sound of Donna's bone cracking.
My own words, sharp and vicious.
The taste of blood—Darlene's, Eira's, others I barely remember. Those I left for dead. Those I killed without hesitation. Those I twisted into killing for me.
The weight of it crashes over me, relentless.
My lips tremble. "Donna… I'm so—so sorry."
She shakes her head, taking a slow step forward. "It wasn't you," she says softly. "I know what it feels like."
And she does. I know that now. I shouldn't, but I do. I pulled that story out of her when she never should've had to relive it. The guilt knots tighter.
"Tomas," I say quietly.
He shakes his head, his smile small but kind. "You are back. That's all that matters."
"Let's quit it with the apology marathon," Kayden mutters, his tone rough but his eyes soft. "You can do the whole walk of repentance later, when you don't look like you're about to collapse."
Asher glances between us. "Can food help? Or any… plants?"
"I don't…" I swallow hard. Even the thought makes my stomach twist. "Not now."
He nods, though the worry stays in his eyes. I must look as bad as I feel, like something dragged from hell, not sure it should've been.
I'm alive. I'm back. Surrounded by people who love me. People I've hurt, but who still stay.
And yet part of me believes what the dark whispered, that death might've been kinder than this: the rawness, the exposure,the feeling of being inside out and not knowing how to exist like this.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Darius
Urgent matters unfortunately pulled me away right after we got her back.
The first was a meeting with my fellow satyr from Europe. A polite affair, if one can call two immortals holding knives behind their backs polite. We exchanged smiles, traded veiled threats, and parted without bloodshed. Old creatures like us avoid open conflict when the outcome might echo through centuries.
He agreed to back off, but not without a warning, as if I hadn't lived long enough to understand the cost myself.
The matter of the Quinns required equal precision. They had been locked away while we worked to recover her. Frightened, likely convinced it was ransom or revenge. Asher handled the erasure. They won't return.
When I step into the Darrow house, the silence tells me what I'll find before I see her. Sage sits on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, her expression empty.
