Rough hands gripping my arms. The smell of copper thick in my nose. Wet warmth being smeared across my skin while voices laughed, deep and cruel. Blood, not paint, marking me for something I didn't understand but knew was wrong. The way it dried sticky on my skin, the way I couldn't scrub it when they finally threw me back in that cage?—
"Ressa."
Falla's voice cuts through, sharp and close. I realize I've backed up several steps, my breathing gone shallow and rapid. The crowd seems closer than it was, the spirals on everyone's skin too vivid, too similar to?—
No. Different. This is different. Green paint, not blood. Festival markings, not whatever horror the Stonevein were preparing me for.
But my body doesn't care about the distinction.
A bowl of paint appears near us, delivered by an assistant who moves on quickly. Brushes rest inside, innocent and harmless and completely terrifying.
My eyes snap to another couple paint spirals on each other's wrists, their laughter genuine and warm. Saela lets Kai mark her temple with careful precision, trust evident in how still she holds for him. This is supposed to be fun. Bonding. A harmless festival tradition.
I can't do it.
The realization crashes through me with crushing certainty. I thought maybe, with Falla's help, with knowing it was just paint and symbols and nothing sinister... but I can't. My skin crawls with phantom sensation, the memory of blood drying tacky and wrong. My hands shake where they're clenched at my sides.
Someone laughs nearby—innocent, joyful—but the sound scrapes against my nerves like a blade.
Too many people. Too much green smeared on too much skin. The spirals blur together in my vision, becoming something else, something darker. My ribs ache where I'm breathing too fast, too shallow. The settlement center tilts slightly, or maybe that's me swaying.
My body is going into full panic mode. If I look away from the crowd, if I lose track of where everyone is, something bad will happen. I need to watch them, all of them, need to know where the threats are even though rationally I know there are no threats here, these are Frostfang, they're different, they're safe?—
But my body doesn't believe it.
My heart hammers against my ribs hard enough to hurt.
This was a mistake. Coming here, agreeing to participate, thinking I could handle something as simple as a festival. I'm broken and everyone can see it and I need to leave, need to get back to the cabin where it's quiet and empty and safe.
But I can't move as memories block out everything I'm seeing. As their laughter sounds dark and twisted like the guards who sliced my skin, who used me astheirentertainment.
The green paint gleams wetly in its bowl, spiral patterns marking everyone around us, and all I can see is red, red, red?—
My chest constricts painfully, vision tunneling at the edges.
Not here. I can't panic here, not in front of everyone, not where they can all see exactly how damaged I am.
But my body doesn't care about dignity or pride or what anyone thinks. The panic rises like a wave, unstoppable, dragging me under whether I want it to or not.
5
FALLA
The shift in Ressa's breathing is so slight most people wouldn't catch it. But I've spent weeks cataloging every indicator of her panic responses—the way her chest goes shallow, how her hands curl into fists, the exact degree her pupils dilate before she spirals.
She's going under.
I move without thinking, stepping into her line of sight and blocking her view of the crowd. Her eyes lock onto mine, wide and unfocused, seeing something that isn't here.
"We're leaving." I keep my voice low and matter-of-fact, the same tone I use when setting broken bones. Clinical. Steady. "Now."
She doesn't respond, but she doesn't resist either when I angle my body to create a corridor between her and the nearest exit. I don't touch her—that would make it worse—just position myself as a barrier and start walking, trusting she'll follow.
She does.
We move through the crowd, my bulk clearing a path without needing to ask. The other orcs part naturally, most too absorbedin their own painting rituals to notice. Those who do glance our way see my expression and wisely look elsewhere.
I catch Kai's eye as we pass. He reads the situation instantly, shifting to block Saela's view of our departure. Good. The last thing Ressa needs right now is her best friend's worried face making her feel worse about leaving.
