“Trina, are you okay?”
“I’ve got a bit of a headache,” she says, leaning on my chest. “But I’m okay.”
Well, you look like absolute fucking hell, but I’m not going to say that out loud.
“You should stop,” I say. “You’ve done enough for now.”
“I don’t know,” Sadie says. “Sometimes pushing past the point of comfort is exactly what’s needed. If she can fully link up to her powers, it will rejuvenate her.”
“That sounds like a big risk,” I reply. “She could get hurt doing that, couldn’t she?”
Sadie nods. “She might.”
“Then we aren’t doing it.”
“Sadie,” Trina says softly. “Here’s the thing. I can feel it, even if I can’t use it, and I can tell I’ve got nothing on you.”
“I know,” Sadie replies with regret. “You have power, but it’s very faint.”
“What?” I ask. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t have strong magic,” Trina says. “Maybe my mother and my aunt did, but I definitely don’t.”
“It’s barely a spark,” Sadie confirms.
I put my arms around Trina more tightly, feeling her holding on to me. I want to comfort her, but I’m way out of my depth. And if her powers aren’t strong enough to save my pack, then all of this has been for nothing.
We finish up, walking through the woods together back to my house. Sadie goes to her car, promising to catch up soon and try again. Trina goes to relax in the bath while I cook dinner, trying to keep my dark thoughts at bay by keeping my hands busy.
I’m putting the food on the table when Trina comes out, wrapped in one of my robes. It’s way too big for her, and she looks tiny and fragile. When she sits down, she has to push the sleeves right up past her elbows to reach for her plate.
“Can I help?” I ask.
She chuckles softly. “If I can’t feed myself, then I’m really in trouble,” she says, pushing the sleeves up again so she can pick up her cutlery. “Thank you for this.”
“No problem,” I reply, my voice soft. While we eat, I try to think of something to talk about, but under our current circumstances, everything seems too frivolous or dangerously depressing.
I can’t exactly ask “what’s your favorite movie” under these conditions, and I definitely won’t be telling her how bad things are getting at the infirmary. She’ll just blame herself.
Trina eats with a decent appetite and seems to brighten up, which gives me hope, but I can still sense terrible pain inside her. And even though I’m sure it’s emotional, it will manifest as physical if we don’t address it.
How? I’m not good at this at all. What do I say to her?
“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?” I ask. “I’m here to listen.”
Trina shakes her head miserably. “Thank you, Owen. I just don’t have any words in me right now. Dinner was nice, though.”
“No trouble at all. I’ve always been good in the kitchen.”
“Well, that makes me happy. How are you with cake?”
“Not great,” I admit, trying to lighten the mood. “My batter always comes out wrong—or I burn them. I gave up trying.”
“Okay,” she laughs. “Stick to savory, then. Your lasagna is top-tier.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I could find some dessert for you—”
“No, it’s okay,” she replies. “I’m just going to lie down for a while. I’m so exhausted.”
