“When? How?” I ask as I stare at her, taking in all the new bruises on her face and neck. Haal, she’s alive. I can’t believe she’s alive.
“When I went to see Scar in your safe downstairs, I swapped my cuff with one of the spare ones you keep.” She pauses. “I just… I had a horrible feeling about the lockdown. Delaney has the wrong cuff.”
It takes me a moment, my mind still reeling from almost losing her.Delaney has the wrong cuff. I blink. Delaney will come back for her. Haal, I hate that my first thought goes there, because Viola is a genius for swapping the cuffs. But this time, I’m not leaving her out of my sight—Paltro, Firstline, and DOTS be damned. No one is touching her.
“You’re brilliant.” I clasp her hands between mine, placing a kiss on the tip of her fingers, and she sighs, shaking her head.
“She killed all of them, Sylas. To think all this started because of the stupidFounder’s Book… if I hadn’t unpacked it—”
“Shhh.” I step between her legs, pressing my forehead against hers, my hands on either side of her on the counter. I’m not letting her wallow in self-pity again. Delaney’s bloodlust wasn’t her fault. “She’s been set on revenge for decades now. No one saw it coming. I didn’t realize it was her until this morning in Paltro’s office.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispers, and I pull back. Her head is lowered again; she’s wrestling with guilt that shouldn’t be hers. I wish she could see herself through my eyes, wish she could see how she makes me whole. She’s the calm to my storm, the ember to my fire, the life to my heart.
“Can you manage—” I glance at the bathtub then back to her. “Or do you need help… I can…”
“I can manage.” Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look at me.
As I prepare to turn away, she calls my name. “Sylas.” She pauses. “My arms hurt when I lift them. Can you cut the shirt?”
I suck in a breath. I’m blinking at her like she’s speaking a language I cannot comprehend. Without a word, I unsheathe my dagger and grip it tightly to mask the slight shake of my hand. I help her off the counter, willing my breath to steady.
“Turn around,” I mumble. It’ll be easier if she’s not looking at me.
Viola’s soft gaze meets mine, then falls to my lips. She lingers for a moment before giving me her back. Her hair is still stiff with blood when I brush it over her shoulder. Inch by inch, I peel the shirt away from her skin. Gathering the cold, wet cloth in my hand, I make a single vertical cut and tear the rest.
The fabric drops, and I gasp.
Her back is a canvas of old and new scars. Mindlessly, my fingers trace along the longest one from her shoulder blade to her waist. I don’t need to ask. I know each of these scars like the back of my hand. Because I healed the wounds, every single one of them.
“How bad is it?”
“It’s bad.”
“Sylas…” She turns to me, and I stop breathing.
My mouth goes dry, and I forget my words, forget my own name. My gaze trails from the sharpness of her collarbone to the curves of her breasts. The warmth blooming at the nape of my neck spreads to my cheeks. And my heart races, every beat awakening an ache deep within me.
I step back. This is a line I cannot cross. Not here. Not now, when our emotions are heightened by the fragility of life. “I… I have to find Beau.”
I leave before she has time to answer.
“Does Viola need anything?” Lyria asks as I walk into Founder’s Room. “I… I figured she was here from the blood trail.” She’s collecting stray sheets of paper from the coffee table and shoving them into her bag. I glance at the clock. It’s eight in the evening, and Gorhail is on lockdown, so why does it look like my sister’s about to head out again?
I run a hand over my face, shaking my head, a futile attempt to clearthe thoughts of Viola. What has become of me? Paltro says young love is ephemeral, but there’s nothing transitory about the sheer terror I felt when I thought she was dead.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Got my clearance pass,” she says. “I’ll be holed up in the library the whole night. Lorne gave me some insights as I was collecting my pass— I have two equations wrong, and I’m approaching lifedrain from the wrong angle, but I’msoclose, Sy, I can feel it.”
“Don’t overwork yourself, Lyr, please.”
She waves me off, then raises her eyebrows. “Beau won’t be back tonight… so you can use his room.”
When I frown in question, she replies, “Yes… with Gray. Gryff sent me an express courier an hour ago.”
“Haal…” Beau and Grayson have had a tumultuous relationship that ended in their not speaking for over a year. Family gatherings were impossible, and they even avoided each other at Dad’s funeral five months ago. “I wonder what changed.”
“Gryff and I are staying out of it.”