—Alexia—
I stayed like that for a long time—knees drawn up, forehead pressed to them, the blanket wrapped around me like a thin shield. The door had clicked shut, but their words lingered in the stale air: arguments, accusations, silences sharp enough to bleed. Zeus's weight on my legs was the only thing keeping me from unraveling completely. His chin rested on my thigh, warm breath fogging against the blanket. Every so often, he shifted just enough to remind me he was there. Unmoving. Unafraid.
My hands trembled in my lap, turning palm-up, searching for an answer in the lines of my skin. Sparks glimmered beneath the surface—green, gold, a shadow of something darker. Even now, the magic hadn't gone quiet. It pulsed low, like a second heartbeat I couldn't silence.
"I didn't mean to," I whispered.
Zeus's ear twitched, but he didn't lift his head. He just sighed, a soft, steadying rumble against my legs. But I had. Part of me had wanted to unleash it, to be the storm when Zeus fell, to make them afraid of touching what was mine. That thought—I swallowed—it terrified me more than any council or enemy could.
"I don't want to be afraid of myself," I breathed. "I don't want them to brace against me."
Zeus nudged my side gently, pressing closer, as if to remind me I was still here. Still me.
"They don't trust me," I murmured. "I don't trust me, either."
The words were sharp in my throat, raw and real in a way that made my bones ache. "I'm tired of scaring everyone."
Even when I wasn't burning the air around me, I saw it in their eyes—the cautious glances, the tension in Asher's jaw, the way Soren measured every breath I took. My mind flickered back to him—the man in the dream. You were magnificent. They'll try to tame you. But you were made for more. His voice haunted me, warm and terrible all at once.
"What if I'm not who I thought I was?" I asked Zeus. He licked the back of my hand, slow and deliberate, like it didn't matter who I was, so long as I was me. I leaned back against the cold stone wall, letting it ground me, letting Zeus's quiet, sturdy warmth anchor the pieces of myself that felt scattered. My eyelids fluttered shut, but the pulsing magic beneath my skin kept me awake.
"I'm scared," I whispered.
The room didn't answer. But Zeus curled closer, draping his heavy head across my knees. His tail thumped once, slow, steady, as if to say: I'm here. And I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
—Finn—
I didn't leave. The others did, boots echoing down the hall, tension trailing after them like smoke. But I stayed, pressing my palm flat against the infirmary door, feeling the faint hum of the bond beneath my skin. She was hurting. I could feel it—sharp, quiet grief that pulsed like a slow wound. I wanted to tear the door off its hinges, hold her, promise her that she wasn't alone, that I wasn't afraid of her. But she needed space. She'd asked for it. And I would honor that.
Jasper's voice came from down the hall, soft but cutting through the silence. "Finn. You staying?"
I didn't look back. "I'm not going anywhere."
Asher's boots scuffed the floor as he turned back, arms crossed, jaw tight. "She said she needed space."
"She didn't say she wanted to be alone," I replied, voice rough. "There's a difference."
"You think hovering helps?" His voice was flat, but I could hear the fear under it.
"She's breaking," I said quietly. "And so are we."
His eyes flickered. "You think I don't know that?"
"Then act like it." My words came out sharper than I intended. "You called her dangerous. Do you think she doesn't know? Do you think she needs you to remind her?"
His jaw flexed, but he didn't respond.
Jasper stepped between us, calm as ever. "Not now."
The air was tight, the tension a thread ready to snap. Soren's voice came low, almost too soft to hear. "You know he's scared, right?"
"We all are," I said. "The difference is, I don't love her despite it."
Asher looked away, and for a second, I saw the guilt on his face. "She looked at me like I was already gone."
Jasper's words were gentle, but they struck deep. "Maybe you were."
Silence fell again. No one moved. No one argued. I turned back to the door, pressing my forehead against it. The bond thrummed, a fragile line between us, alive with her fear and exhaustion. Then I heard her voice, muffled but clear.
"I don't want to be afraid of myself."
The words hit me like a blade.
"They don't trust me… I don't trust myself either… I'm tired of scaring everyone."
My eyes burned. I pressed my hand harder to the door, wishing I could reach through and hold her, wishing she could hear me.
"I'm not scared of you," I whispered. "I'm scared for you."
The bond flickered. Maybe she heard. Perhaps she didn't. But I needed her to know.
"I chose you, Lex," I said, softer now. "Even if you can't choose yourself."
A pause, so quiet I almost didn't breathe.
"I'm scared," I admitted.
The bond pulsed gently, like a heartbeat in the dark.
"I know," I whispered. "But I'm not."
I didn't leave. I stayed, silent and still, outside her door. Letting her grieve. Letting her breathe. But never—never—letting her go.