Daggermouth

Her body felt fragile against his chest despite the strength he knew it contained. He could feel her heartbeat, rapid and shallow, her skin cool beneath his touch. He lowered her gently into the water, supporting her head as she hissed at the initial contact with her injuries. Steam rose around them, fogging the mirrors, creating a world that existed only in this moment, separate from the horrors that awaited beyond the bathroom door.

For a few precious minutes, there was no Vow ceremony, no Heart, no Boundary. Just two broken people finding a moment of peace in the midst of chaos.

“Is it too hot?” he asked, hands still wrapped around her as if he were scared to let her go.

She shook her head slightly, eyes closing as the warmth began to ease some of the tension from her battered body. “It’s perfect,” she whispered.

Greyson remained kneeling beside the tub, watching as the water turned pink with diluted blood, as her face softened slightly with the first real relief she’d experienced in days. Something twisted in his chest at the sight—something that felt dangerously close to forgiveness.

His brother’s ghost seemed to hover in the steam filled room, a presence impossible to ignore. Shadera had killed him—unknowingly, yes, but the fact remained. His blood was on her hands. Greyson should hate her for that. Should want nothing to do with her. Should walk away and leave her to face whatever fate awaited them both.

But he couldn’t. The hate that had burned so fiercely in his cell had cooled, transformed into something more complex, more painful. He looked at her now and saw not his brother’s killer, but a woman who had been used just as he had been. A pawn in his father’s game, manipulated into becoming the instrument of Brooker’s death without ever knowing the truth.

Could he forgive that? He didn’t know. The wound was still too raw, the loss too profound. But he knew he couldn’t continue to blame her for it.

“I should go,” he said finally, reluctantly withdrawing his hand from where it clung to her body. “Give you some privacy.”

Her eye opened, finding his face with an intensity that made his breath catch. For a moment, he thought she might ask him to stay. Part of him hoped she would. But she simply nodded, another of those small, careful movements designed to minimize pain, emotional now. Not physical.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice steadier than before. “For helping me.”

Greyson stood, his muscles protesting after so long in one position. He moved toward the door, each step taking him farther from her. At the threshold, he paused, his hand on the doorknob, his back to her. He couldn’t bring himself to turn around, to look at her again. If he did, he might not find the strength to leave.

“They are going to die today, the Veyra that touched you,” he breathed. “And then I am going to kill my father.”