To heal a Rogue

LYSANDER

Her sobs were ragged, tearing through her chest like she was coughing up glass. I kept my arms wrapped around her shoulders, one hand cradling the back of her head, my fingers tangled in her hair. She smelled of blood and antiseptic and something else, something sharp and metallic that I recognized as the residue of spent magic. The bond between us was still humming, a low-frequency vibration that resonated in my teeth, but the screaming pain had faded to a dull ache.

I had been so afraid something horrific had happened, and perhaps it was. But there was no greater relief I felt right now than the fact that she was alive. She was here. That was all that mattered for this single suspended moment.

But she started to pull away.

Her palms pressed against my chest, pushing gently but insistently until I loosened my grip. She sat back in the chair, her spine curved forward, her hands dropping to her knees where they hung limp and trembling. She didn’t look at me. She stared at the floor, at the place where Ryker’s body had been before they moved it, though the bloodstain remained, dark and accusing against the otherwise white tile.

”I couldn’t save him,” she whispered, the words barely carrying past her lips.

I knelt there on the hard floor, my knees aching from the impact, and I waited. I had learned that about her, that she needed space to find her words, that pushing only made her retreat deeper into herself.

”He was already gone,” I murmured, reaching for her hand where it rested on her knee. My fingers brushed hers, tentative as a test. ”You tried. Knowing you, you probably even tried to heal him.”

She shook her head, sharp and violent, her hair whipping across her face. ”No. Not just now. Not just...” She gestured vaguely toward the bloodstain, her hand shaking. ”Before. All of it. Everything that made him... that made him want to die.”

Her eyes finally found mine, and the guilt I saw there was staggering. It wasn’t the sharp, hot guilt of a single mistake. It was the heavy, grinding weight of accumulated sin, layered over months, maybe even years.

”I lied my way into this estate,” she continued, her voice gaining a ragged edge. ”I pretended to be something I wasn’t. I let them give me shelter, food, a place to sleep. And when the truth came out, when everyone realized what I was, who I was... they arrested the retainers. The ones who had shown me kindness. The ones who gave me a roof and did not ask enough questions.”

She laughed, but it was a broken sound, bitter and wet. ”Ryker was right. He told me outside the library that day that they would suffer for my crimes. That they would be jailed, killed, because they couldn’t see past my deceit. And I didn’t listen. Or I listened, and I thought... I thought I could fix it. I thought if I just became valuable enough to the crown... to you... I was sure that if I just saved them, I could balance the scales.”

Her hands came up, covering her face, her shoulders shaking again. ”That’s why I lost it. In the courtyard. When Johann killed those men. I thought... I thought if I could bring them back, if I could just put their heads back on their bodies and make them breathe again, then maybe... maybe I wouldn’t be a monster. Maybe I could salvage something of myself. But it didn’t matter. They died. I couldn’t save them, even with all this power I am supposed to have. And now Ryker... he didn’t want to be saved. He was okay with dying. He was okay with it because of me. Because I took his faith and I broke it.” 𝑓𝑟ℯℴ𝓂

She dropped her hands, looking up at me with red-rimmed eyes. ”I broke him, Lysander. Just like I’m breaking everything I touch.”

Before I could answer, before I could find the words to bridge the distance she was creating, Bradley stepped forward. He moved quietly for a man of his size, his boots soft against the tile. In his hand, he held a glass of water, condensation beading on the surface. He extended it toward Bonnie, his expression carefully neutral, though I saw the tightness around his jaw, the way his eyes kept darting to the bloodstain and then away.

”He was a traitor,” Bradley murmured, his voice low and rough. He held the water out until Bonnie took it, her fingers wrapping around the glass with a mechanical lack of awareness. ”He died by his own choices, not yours. He pulled the gun. He decided to participate knowing his sins. He chose his ending.”

Bonnie stared at the water, her reflection wavering on the surface. She didn’t drink. She just held it, her grip so tight her knuckles turned white.

I stood up then, my legs stiff from kneeling, and I offered her my hand. ”We should go,” I whispered. ”This place... it’s too full of ghosts. Come with me.”

She looked at my hand for a long moment, then at the water, then at the bloodstain. Finally, she set the glass down on the arm of the chair, untouched, and placed her palm in mine. Her skin was cold, clammy, but her fingers tightened around mine with a desperation that spoke louder than her tears.

I pulled her up, steadying her when she swayed, keeping my arm around her waist as we turned toward the door. Bradley stepped back, giving us space, his face unreadable in the harsh fluorescent light.

”Thank you,” Bonnie murmured to him, her voice hollow. ”For trying to be kind.”

”Well... it is in my programming.”

I guided her toward the exit, my arm anchoring her against my side, feeling the tremors that ran through her body with every step. We passed through the doors into the corridor, the air cooler here, the lights dimmer. The silence between us wasn’t empty, but it was heavy, filled with everything she hadn’t said yet.

Once we were far enough from the infirmary, once the smell of blood had faded into the background scent of stone and old wood, she stopped walking. She pulled away from my arm and leaned against the wall, her forehead pressed against the cool surface, her eyes closed.

”Bradley was trying to be kind,” she repeated, her voice muffled against the stone. ”But he is wrong. It was me. It was always me.”

”Bonnie—” This was what Fia was talking about. I saw it now. And I needed to do something about it.