“Everett?”
“Gone. You caused enough ruckus between the fire and your amulet’s detonation that the news got involved. Apparently, Commander Bishop was on the way, and the FCD is conducting a manhunt, but he’s hurt,” Hiram says, flexing his fingers, curling them into a fist before wincing. “When I found you, the Botanist was getting up. They looked like you.”
“I ... yeah, I fought myself. I don’t think I’m going to look in a mirror for a while.”
He makes a small hum of understanding. “I hexed them, tried to restrain them, but they broke out, said my name, and told me that they would see me again.”
“Shit,” Veda says faintly. “Are you—were you injured?”
“A bit. I was checked out. It’s just a consequence. My amulet only partially worked for a protection charm I cast on you. It’s not meant to be used on someone unrelated to me.” Hiram glances at her. “I’m not sure how it worked as much as it did.”
Veda looks down at her splinted wrist. “I’m worried about Everett being out there, getting madder by the day. He needs to be found.”
“You should rest.”
Memories plunge her into fear’s icy waters. “I don’t think I can.”
“I know, but—oh.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. Her amulet. It’s cracked and burned, the chain rusted and blackened. “I found it and thought you might want it.”
Hesitant fingers curl around the twisted stones that saved her life once, and sacrificed themselves for her now. Veda is so damn tired. But if she lets herself feel, even for a second, she’ll drown. She forces herselfto get past the night’s horrors, only realizing she’s forgotten gratitude when the words slip out.
“Thanking you is ...” Veda tries to hold back the words.
Hiram’s smirk spreads wider. “Is the last thing you want to do, I’m sure.”
“It’s the worst.” It hurts to smile, but one twists her lips before she winces. Hiram reaches for a nearby compress and brings it to her sore cheek. When Veda takes over, their fingers incidentally brush. A flash of inviting warmth leaves her scrambling to reestablish the distance between them.
Hiram grows serious, his expression hardening into an unreadable mask. “You’re welcome.”
“If you get any nicer, I’ll start insulting you to maintain our status quo.”
“Oneyouset.”
Veda focuses on the growing numbness instead of his comment. It’s easier.
Fortunately, Hiram’s phone rings, and he excuses himself. The conversation doesn’t last nearly long enough, and he returns with: “Gabriel said that Khadijah is on her way. She’ll wait with you until you’re discharged, take you home, and get your bike.”
“Okay.”
Hiram returns to his seat, blue eyes searching hers. “I can leave now, or I can wait until she gets here.”
The first option would leave Veda alone, staring at sterile white walls and trying to hold herself together. It sounds miserable. But the second option is no easier. Whether now or later, she’ll be alone with her thoughts soon enough.
“Wait.” It’s the hardest word Veda has ever uttered.
Hiram settles in his seat without hesitation. Adrenaline fades. Pain dulls into a cold hollowness as the past few hours hit Veda like a freight train, dismantling every painstaking measure of self-preservation she’s managed to construct.
The dam doesn’t crumble—it bursts.
Without permission, tears rise, pooling in her swollen eyes. They sting, burning hot trails down her battered face. She tries to stop them, scrubbing at each one with stubborn resolve, but the effort only brings a splitting headache. She can no longer keep up the charade of acting like she isn’t scared. Like she didn’t silently plead for her life despite believing that she was ready to lose it. Like on another day, in another way, the circumstances already beyond her control will have a different outcome.
Later, she’ll rebuild the dam. Patch it. Reinforce it. But tonight, she lets her tears fall. Veda sobs with abandon, each breath raw and shuddering.
Hiram’s hand covers hers, his grip warm and solid. A rescue from deep waters.
He’s prickly like a rough rope. Quiet and steady. Her tether.
Eighteen
