Raven was awake today, sitting up in bed, pale against the crisp white sheets. Lucas sat beside her, his fingers laced through hers like he could anchor her by sheer force of will.
Beyond her room, healers moved between curtained alcoves, their voices low and movements efficient. Two beds down, a younger witch whimpered in her sleep. A monitoring device beeped somewhere.
But none of it touched me. All I could see was the girl in front of me. For a second, relief hit so hard my knees went soft.
Then my necromancy brushed the air around her, and the relief cracked.
Even from the doorway, I could see the wrongness. The way her gaze drifted a half-second behind the conversation. The way her smile arrived late, like it had to travel through something thick to reach her face. Red-black threads still clung to her—faint but stubborn. They weren’t spreading, but the weren’t gone.
Dr. Phillips appeared at my elbow, quiet as a shadow. She’s stable, she said, but recovery has plateaued. The corruption we removed isn’t growing back, but she isn’t returning to baseline either.
My throat tightened. Will she?
Phillips didn’t soften it. Unknown. She may improve over years. Or this may be as good as it gets.
Inside, Raven laughed at something Lucas said. The sound almost landed right—almost bright, almost her.
But my magic heard the difference anyway, like a song played through damaged speakers with familiar notes but warped edges.
We committed everything to save her, I said, and the words came out sharper than I meant. Full resources. Perfect timing. All four of us working in harmony.
You did, Phillips agreed.
And we got this. I nodded once toward the bed. Alive. Safe. Still… not whole.
Yes.
I swallowed, forcing the next words past the pressure in my chest. At solstice, there will be hundreds like her. Maybe thousands. And we won’t have the time or manpower to give them what we gave Raven.
Phillips’ face didn’t flinch. No. You won’t.
My fingers curled against the glass until my nails ached. How do I choose? The question scraped out of me. How do I decide who gets Raven-level care and who gets left behind?
You don’t, Phillips said quietly. You save who you can with what you have. And you live with the rest.
The weight of it settled in my ribs like a stone.
Raven wasn’t a breakthrough. She was an exception—the miracle you got when everything went perfectly, all four heirs were in the room, and the master didn’t quite close his fist in time.
It was simultaneously proof that rescue was possible but didn’t scale.
At solstice, I’d be making choices with less time, fewer hands, and more bodies on the ground.
I’d have to decide who got pulled back from the edge…and who didn’t.
And then I’d have to keep breathing afterward.
LATER, I FOUND CYRUS IN the training hall, working through combat forms with brutal precision.
He stopped when he saw me, Ember settling calmer on his shoulder. You made the choice.
Option three, I said. Yup. Door number three that leads to triage-level murder. Partial activation. Unknown casualties.
Scout stirred against my collarbone like he wanted to climb inside and help me carry the weight.
Cyrus nodded. The one where you have to choose who to save.
Yes.
