Page 16

KELLI

T he second I shut the battered door behind us, the air feels too thick to breathe.

The kids settle onto the torn cushions in the corner, clutching their little toy pieces, watching us with wide, wary eyes.

Watching him.

Watching me.

I can feel the heat of their stares burning through my spine.

Traz leans heavy against the wall, hand pressed to his side.

I see the dark stain blooming under his jacket, and my stomach twists.

"Sit down before you fall down," I snap, grabbing the old med kit from the shelf.

He doesn’t argue.

That’s how I know he’s worse than he’s letting on.

He sinks onto the crate, jaw tight, skin pale under the dirt and blood.

I crouch in front of him, popping the cracked latch on the kit with shaking fingers.

Old habits kick in, and I push the fear down deep.

Keep my hands steady.

Keep my face blank.

I peel back his jacket, ripping it when it sticks to the blood-soaked fabric underneath.

He flinches, barely.

The wound’s bad—ugly gash along his ribs, still weeping red.

Could've killed him easy if it were an inch deeper.

I don't let my hands tremble.

I don't let my voice break.

I dip the cloth in the little flask of liquor we keep for emergencies and press it to the wound.

He sucks in a sharp breath.

"Go ahead," I mutter. "Yell if you want. Not like the kids haven’t heard worse."

He grunts something under his breath—maybe a curse, maybe a thank you, I can't tell.

I clean him up as best I can, working fast, working hard.

Because if I stop moving...

If I stop pretending like he's just another patient...

I’ll break.

And if I break, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to piece myself back together again.

"Why?" I whisper before I even realize the word's left my mouth.

Traz stiffens.

"Why’d you leave?" I ask, louder now, the dam starting to crack.

His eyes stay locked on mine, steady, stubborn.

"You wouldn't have been safe if I stayed," he says rough.

"Safe?" I spit, slamming the bloody cloth down onto the floor. "You think hiding under Petru’s thumb was safe? You think raising two half-blood kids in a goddamn death pit was safe?"

His jaw flexes.

"You think I didn’t want to stay?" he growls. "You think it didn't kill me to walk away?"

"You didn’t even say goodbye!" I shout, voice breaking.

The kids flinch in the corner, huddling closer together.

Guilt slices through me, but I can’t stop.

Not now.

"You didn’t give me a choice!" I cry, chest heaving. "You just—left. You disappeared. Like we didn’t matter."

"You did matter!" he roars back, fists clenching at his sides.

"Then why wasn’t I enough?" I choke out.

The silence after that is brutal.

Raw.

Traz drags his hands down his face, like he’s trying to peel himself out of his own damn skin.

"I was scared," he mutters.

The words are so soft I almost miss them.

I blink.

"You?" I sneer, bitterness coating every syllable. "The big bad mercenary? Scared?"

He lifts his head, meeting my stare without flinching.

"Yeah," he says. "Scared I'd ruin you. Scared Petru would use you against me. Scared you'd die because of me."

Tears blur my vision.

I swipe them away with the back of my hand, furious at myself.

"Newsflash, Traz," I hiss. "You ruined me anyway."

His shoulders sag, like the fight’s bleeding out of him.

Like he knows he deserves every damn word.

The kids watch us, silent and scared, their little bodies pressed together for protection.

I see it—see the fear we’re feeding them—and it twists the knife deeper.

I turn away, wrapping my arms around myself, holding in the sob clawing up my throat.

"You think fear makes you a man?" I whisper, voice shaking. "It makes you a coward."

The word hangs there.

Heavy.

Final.

Traz doesn’t defend himself.

Doesn’t argue.

Just sits there, bleeding and broken, watching me like he’s drowning.

The kids don’t move.

Neither do I.

The room feels like it’s caving in.

Crushing us all under the weight of everything we never said.

Everything we can’t take back.

Everything we still don’t know how to fix.

The silence drags so long it feels like a living thing, coiling around my throat.

Aria lets out a soft, broken sound.

A hiccup first.

Then a choked little sob.

I whip around just in time to see her crumble—face crumpling, tiny fists rubbing at her eyes.

It guts me.

But before I can move, Traz is already there.

Fast for a man so battered.

He scoops her up gentle as you please, cradling her against his chest like she’s made of something precious and fragile.

Aria buries her face in his neck, sobs wracking her tiny body.

Traz just holds her.

No words.

No false promises.

Just solid, steady strength.

Joren edges closer too, clinging to Traz’s arm like he’s afraid if he lets go, the whole world will fall apart.

Traz shifts, pulling them both into his lap, wrapping those big arms around them tight.

Protective.

Fierce.

Unyielding.

I press a hand over my mouth, swallowing back the sob burning in my chest.

Watching them—this big, broken man who once walked away from us now holding our babies like they’re the only things keeping him breathing?—

It shatters something inside me.

Something hard and bitter I didn’t even know I was still clinging to.

I sink down onto the crate across from them, hands shaking, heart twisting in my chest.

I don’t say a word.

I don’t have to.