Mira's POV
I set up my medicine bag against the alley wall, trying not to think about the fact that this dirty, rat-infested space was now my clinic.
My hands still shook from the eviction. From watching guards break down my door. From Mr. Renwick's disgusted face as he called me "magicless filth" in front of half the neighborhood.
But I couldn't fall apart. Not yet.
People needed me.
I arranged my few remaining supplies on a clean cloth. Most of my herbs had been lost when the guards knocked over my bag during the eviction. I had enough left for maybe three patients. After that...
I didn't let myself finish that thought.
"Miss Mira?" A small voice called from the alley entrance.
I looked up to see Tommy Chen, a seven-year-old boy I'd treated for fever last month. Tears streamed down his dirty face. His mother, Mrs. Chen, stood behind him, wringing her hands anxiously.
"Tommy? What's wrong?" I moved toward them quickly.
That's when I saw his arm. It bent at a wrong angle halfway down, already swelling purple. Broken. Badly.
"He fell from a tree," Mrs. Chen sobbed. "I went to the magical healer on Fourth Street, but he wanted five gold pieces just to look at it. I don't have five gold pieces. Please, can you help him?"
My chest tightened with familiar anger. Five gold pieces. These people worked their entire lives and never saw that much money. But magical healers charged whatever they wanted because they could.
"Come here, Tommy." I knelt beside him, keeping my voice gentle. "I'm going to fix your arm, but it's going to hurt. Can you be brave for me?"
Tommy nodded, his lip trembling. He was trying so hard not to cry. My heart broke for him.
I examined the break carefully with my fingers. Clean fracture, thank the gods. Nothing piercing through skin. I could set this. I'd done it dozens of times.
"Mrs. Chen, I need you to hold his shoulders," I instructed. "Hold him very still, no matter what."
I worked quickly. My hands knew what to do even when my mind raced with worry about my own problems. I pulled Tommy's arm straight—he screamed, and tears poured down both his and his mother's faces—then aligned the bones perfectly by feel alone.
Magical healers could see through skin with their power. I just had my knowledge and these worthless, magicless hands that everyone said weren't good enough.
But they were good enough to save this boy's arm.
I splinted it with two straight sticks and wrapped it tight with my last clean bandages. The whole process took maybe ten minutes, but it felt like hours.
"There," I said softly, sitting back. "Keep it still for six weeks. Come back if the swelling doesn't go down or if it starts smelling bad. And Tommy?" I looked at the boy seriously. "No more climbing trees for a while."
Tommy nodded, still sniffling but looking relieved. The pain was already lessening now that the bones were set right.
"How much do I owe you?" Mrs. Chen asked, reaching for her coin purse with shaking hands.
I looked at the purse. It was nearly flat. She probably had a few copper coins at most—barely enough to feed her family for a week.
"Nothing," I said.
"But—"
"Nothing, Mrs. Chen. Just take care of him."
Mrs. Chen's eyes filled with fresh tears. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. "You're an angel, Miss Mira. An angel. I don't care what anyone says about magicless people. You're worth a hundred magical healers."
Her words warmed something in my chest that had been cold since the eviction.
They left, Tommy cradling his splinted arm carefully. I watched them disappear into the crowd, feeling a small spark of purpose return.
This was why I healed. Not for money. Not for recognition. For this.
I turned back to my supplies, preparing to pack up. The sun was setting, and the alley would be dangerous after dark. I needed to find somewhere safe to sleep tonight. Somewhere the guards wouldn't—
Footsteps. Running. Fast.
I looked up just as a group of palace guards burst into the alley. Not regular city guards—these wore the royal crest. At least a dozen of them, all with weapons drawn.
"Move aside!" the lead guard shouted at people in the street. "By order of Queen Isadora! Clear the way!"
Panic rippled through the crowd. People pressed against walls, giving the guards room. I started gathering my supplies quickly, trying to make myself invisible.
Palace guards in the Lower Districts meant trouble. Big trouble. They were searching for someone.
I just needed to disappear before they noticed me.
But as the guards ran past my alley, one of them crashed directly into my medicine bag. Herbs and supplies exploded across the cobblestones.
"No!" I cried out before I could stop myself.
The guard whirled on me. "What did you say?"
My blood ran cold. His eyes were hard, angry. And I'd just made myself visible.
"I... my supplies..." I gestured weakly at my scattered medicines. The few precious things I had left, now covered in mud and street filth.
"Your supplies?" The guard's lip curled. "We're on a royal mission and you're worried about garbage?"
"It's not garbage," I said, anger overriding my fear. "Those herbs can save lives. I need them to—"
His hand shot out and backhanded me across the face.
The world exploded in stars. I crashed into the alley wall, tasting blood. Pain radiated through my skull.
"Learn your place, magicless trash," the guard spat. He deliberately stepped on my medicine bag, grinding it into the mud with his boot. Glass vials crunched. Dried herbs scattered. My precious scalpel disappeared under his heel.
I stared at the destruction through tears of pain and rage. Everything. He'd destroyed everything I had left.
"Captain!" another guard called. "We need to keep moving! The assassins went this way!"
Assassins? My fuzzy brain registered the word through the pain.
"Move out!" The captain guard kicked my bag one more time, sending my last belongings scattering, then ran after his men.
They disappeared around the corner, leaving me crumpled against the wall with a bloody mouth and nothing—absolutely nothing—left.
I touched my face gingerly. My lip was split, bleeding freely. My cheek was already swelling. But worse than the physical pain was the hollow feeling in my chest.
My supplies were gone. Ruined. And I didn't have money to replace any of it.
Without herbs, without tools, I couldn't heal anyone. I couldn't do the one thing that gave my life meaning.
I was truly nothing now.
I dropped my head into my hands, fighting back sobs. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't. But gods, I wanted to.
That's when I heard it.
A sound. Faint. Coming from deeper in the alley, where the guards had been running.
A moan. Weak. Pained.
My healer's instinct kicked in despite everything. Someone was hurt.
I pushed myself to my feet, swaying. My head spun from the blow, but I forced myself to move. I gathered what few supplies I could salvage—a few herbs that weren't completely ruined, one unbroken vial, a somewhat clean cloth.
The sounds came from the darkest part of the alley, where it curved out of sight.
I stumbled forward, using the wall for support. My face throbbed with every heartbeat.
"Hello?" I called softly. "Do you need help?"
No answer. Just another weak moan.
I rounded the corner and froze.
A man lay crumpled against the far wall. His clothes were fine—rich fabric, expensive boots. But that wasn't what made my breath catch.
Three dead guards surrounded him, their throats cut. Blood pooled on the cobblestones, reflecting the dying sunlight like a dark mirror.
And the man who was still alive—barely—had the royal crest stitched onto his collar in golden thread.
My heart stopped.
This was who the palace guards had been searching for. This was the assassination they'd mentioned.
And I'd just found him.
Every survival instinct I had screamed at me to run. To get as far away as possible before someone found me here. If I was caught with a dying royal and three corpses, I'd be executed on the spot. No trial. No mercy.
But then his eyes opened.
Silver eyes. Like moonlight. Like starlight. Like nothing I'd ever seen before.
They locked onto mine with desperate, fading intensity.
"Help..." The word came out as barely a whisper. Blood bubbled on his lips. "Please... help..."
Then his eyes rolled back and his head lolled to the side.
I stood frozen, my salvaged supplies clutched in trembling hands.
He was dying. Right in front of me.
And the palace guards could return any second.
I should run. I should leave him and disappear into the Lower Districts where no one would ever find me. It was the smart choice. The only choice that let me survive.
But my feet were already moving forward.
Because I saw something else now. Something that made my blood turn to ice.
Black veins spreading under his skin like poison rivers. Blue-tinted lips. Muscles seizing even while unconscious.
I knew these symptoms.
Nightshade Tears. The deadliest poison in the kingdom.
He had maybe an hour to live. Maybe less.
My hands shook as I dropped to my knees beside him. My split lip throbbed. My head spun. My supplies were nearly gone.
But I was a healer.
And healers don't run.
I reached for his wrist to check his pulse, my fingers finding skin that was too cold, too clammy.
That's when I heard them.
Boots. Running. Coming back this way.
The guards were returning.