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“I’m so sorry, Lyra.” His throat bobbed as he ran a hand over his face. He pushed to his feet and took an unsteady step towards me. He winced, instantly trying to hide it.

He stood over me, his hand outstretched as though he still believed I might choose to take it.

“You weren't meant to feel it.” His jaw tightened. “I...” He looked away for the briefest heartbeat before letting out a quiet breath. “I thought I could keep it from you, but they used Cerilla’s magic to force open our bond.”

Probably another lie.

When I didn’t reach for his hand, he went to grab my arm. I flinched backwards, eyeing his hand like it was a branding iron.

Hurt flashed through the bond in a sharp flare that he quickly closed. A feeling that didn’t match the cocky mask he wore.

“Don’t touch me,” I whispered, pushing myself up and slipping on my own blood that had pooled around me.

His hand wrapped around my forearm to steady me, and I ripped my arm free from his grip.

His hand curled around the empty air as if fighting the urge to reach for me again.

But his lips pressed together, and a steady sigh left his lips.

“Go.” He tilted his chin towards the washroom.

I tried to keep my steps even and my chin high as I walked to the washroom. Too keep my limbs from trembling took so much effort that I gritted my teeth together, as if the ghost of the torment wasn’t still making me want to sob.

Fragile, he had called me. Was I not already too broken to be damaged more?

I closed the door behind me and gripped the edges of the basin, focusing on the way air filled my lungs and rushed back out of me.

Turning on the tap, I watched the water pour before running my hands underneath it. Black blood washed off me and ran down the basin. I did nothing but stare at it for a moment before something inside me cracked.

I scrubbed at my hands furiously, trying to get the blood off, but it seemed to keep spreading like ink across water.

My breath came in shallow bursts, trembling from my lips.

Why wasn’t it coming off me?

A tear slid down my cheek.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

I leant down, cupping my hands and letting them fill with cold water before splashing it over my face.

It ran down my cheeks, dripping from my chin into the porcelain bowl.

The blood-stained water ran down the drain, my tears glistening amongst it.

I froze.

My reflection hadn’t moved.

In the mirror, I remained looking straight ahead, a tear glistening down my pale cheek.

I held my hand up, and my reflection mirrored it perfectly. I swallowed hard, fear spreading like the hands of the dead crawling up my spine.

Perhaps the pain of the Nether had unravelled what little remained of my sanity like Helion had feared.

A laugh, brittle and humourless, caught in my throat. Was I losing my mind? Or had it always been waiting to unravel?

I tore my gaze from the mirror and stumbled towards the bath, twisting the taps until steaming water poured into the basin.