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“He’s half conscious,” she says.

“I don’t care.”

I place another stitch, but I realize a bloom of sweat has formed on Corrick’s forehead, and his fingers are clutching at the sheet. He hasn’t moved, but he’s not unconscious.

He’s . . . he’s listening.

I can’t decide if this is brave or stupid. Probably both. I put the needle against his skin again, but hesitate. My palm turns damp. I can’t do this if he’s awake. I can’t.

I try not to think about the fact that I already was.

“He’s helped us for years,” says Earle. “I’ve heard about what he’s done out there, but I know what he’s done here, for us.” He pauses. “And sometimes people go too far.”

“On both sides,” says Lochlan.

“Are you going to finish?” says Karri, and I almost jump. I push the needle through, and a muscle in Corrick’s jaw twitches. I have no idea how he can stay silent through this, but I can do him the favor of being quick. I loop and tie off the knot, and she cuts the thread.

I take the muslin from Karri and wash the fresh blood away. Corrick doesn’t move. His grip on the sheet has gone slack. I can’t tell if he’s passed out again or if he’s just relieved that I’m not shoving a needle through his eyebrow.

“You all bombed the Hold,” I say.

“There’s a group from Trader’s Landing that brought supplies from the mines,” she says.

“Karri,” snaps Lochlan.

“How did you get in?” I say, as I rinse the muslin and squeeze out the excess water. “The gate guards search—”

A hand closes on my arm, fingers digging into the muscle. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Lochlan. He’s right at my side. I gasp and try to jerk away. “I’m not—I’m not—”

“Let her go,” snaps Karri.

“Lochlan,” says Earle. “Leave her be.”

Lochlan shifts closer to me, until standing turns to looming. He’s no fool. “What. Are. You. Doing?”

I wish I had the needle in my hand again, instead of this useless crush of muslin. I’m ready to punch him in the crotch, but he suddenly cries out and lets me go, falling back a step, colliding with the small side table. A bowl overturns and shatters on the floor. White petals flutter wildly, and some end up on the bed beside Corrick.

Corrick has grabbed hold of Lochlan’s broken wrist where it hung beside the bed, and he’s twisting his grip. His eyes are full of pain and exhaustion but are as cunning and keen as ever.

“You’ll keep your hands off her,” he says, and his voice sounds like he’s speaking through ground glass.

Lochlan is all but doubled over. He’s gasping, making tiny keening sounds with each breath.

Karri and Earle have stepped forward, and their eyes go back and forth as they try to figure out who to help.

“Corrick.” I have to clear my throat. “Corrick. Let him go.”

He lets go, and Lochlan falls to his knees, cradling his arm against his belly. When he glares up at Corrick, his eyes are like fire.

Corrick’s gaze is worse, his blue eyes like ice, carrying a promise of every cruel thought that can make its way through his head. I’d forgotten he can look like that.

Karri surges forward to scoop the Moonflower petals into a new bowl. They remind me of the ones in the workshop, the ones Wes took from Tris. Some are slightly narrower than I’m used to, and even in the midst of everything, my apothecary mind can’t help but wonder why. Have they been cut smaller? Where did they come from? Do the Benefactors have access to a new supply, a new cure? The thought lights me with hope and fear simultaneously.

Corrick puts a hand against the bed and levers himself to sitting. Once he’s upright, he braces his hands against his knees and clenches his jaw. His eyes are shadowed in a way that tells me they’ll be blackened tomorrow, and his jaw is swollen on the left side. He’s hunched over, and I wonder if he has cracked ribs.

Earle takes Lochlan’s arm and helps him stand. For the first time since helping, he looks uncertain. Karri appears at my side with a cup of tea, the air thick with the scent of the herbs she’s added. Ginger and turmeric, along with some lemon and rosemary.