“You’ll break your hands before the tree gives,” she says.
“I’m not in the mood.” My voice comes out rough, like I’d swallowed gravel.
“You never are.”
For a moment, there’s only the sound of wind pushing through the hedges. Then she exhales. “You’re bleeding. Marco’s twitching again. You’re making him nervous.”
I huff a dry laugh. “He twitches at sunlight.”
Her laugh is quieter. Softer. A rare sound that doesn’t belong in this place.
“They’re worried, Matteo. We all are.”
“I’m fine.” The words taste false the second they leave me.
“You’re not.” Her eyes are on me now, steady.
I let it crack, enough to breathe.
“Forty-eight hours in a box, Rosa. No light. No time. Just the sound of my own breath. Have you ever heard your heartbeat slow down to the point you’re not sure if it’s stopped or if your brain’s just gone numb?”
She doesn’t answer.
“I thought I’d be fine,” I say. “Thought I’d use the time to plot. To focus. But all I did was think about the O’Briens. About the blood in our soil. About her.”
Rosa tilts her head. “Aoife?”
I nod. My voice is quieter now. “She doesn’t belong here, and yet… she’s everywhere in my fucking head. It’s messing with me.”
Rosa reaches out, gently touches my bruised hand. “You needed to say that.”
I pull it back. Not because of her, but because of me.
“I can’t afford to feel like this.”
“Then don’t,” she says, stepping back. “But don’t shut us out either. We’re your family. You fall, we catch you. I fall, you catch me. Just remember who the enemy is.”
I walk away before she can say anything else.
For the first time in days, I breathe.
Even kings talk to someone when the crown gets heavy.
I need a clear head. One thing stays true. Aoife won’t be my downfall.
The corridor hums low as I push open the dorm door.
Marco and Milo sit shoulder to shoulder on the floor, backs against the wall, settled like they have been there longer than they care to admit.
Neither says a word.
I stop a few feet away; the door shuts behind me with a soft click.
For a moment, no one breathes.
Then I hear my own voice, rough, scraped from the dark. “I’m not okay.”
Marco’s head lifts. His eyes flicker wide, then the grin slides in like armor. “Holy shit. The Rage speaks.”
