EZRA
She’s weightless in my arms, like a flame gone out too soon.
Still warm. Still breathing. But too still.
Too quiet.
Thea’s lashes fan her cheeks, her lips parted slightly—just enough to wreck me. Her coffee table was broken. The stench of the Nytherin lingers like rot in my lungs. I want to burn the whole house just to chase the memory out of these walls.
I carry her to the sofa, gentle like she’s made of ash, like one wrong move and she’ll blow away.
She doesn’t stir when I brush a curl from her cheek.
She doesn’t wake when I whisper her name.
My chest aches in ways it shouldn’t. Not for someone like me. But I can still hear the echo of her scream, that breaking-point sound a soul makes when it sees something it shouldn’t.
Me.
I ruined everything.
I should leave when I not
