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I…am…going…to…die.

I’ll take care of it.

Sitri’s going to kill me . I should feel something. I should be alarmed, trying to flee. If I flee I’ll turn into a monster. I’d rather die than turn into that horrifying creature. Finally, there’s the sound of the door opening and shutting.

Mostly I feel tired .

This is what I expected. It just took a little longer to get here. I need to get up and get back in bed before Sitri comes back in. So he doesn’t know I know. No sooner than the thought crosses my mind, I hear a door slamming again, and he barges in, face pulled into a deep scowl. He doesn’t notice me as he strides forward, and then freezes at the sight of the empty bed. He whips around and we stare at each other in mirrored expressions of shock.

There’s some bitter irony in that I thought I’d be eaten in coming here…and instead, I’ll die from eating someone else. A manic laugh works up my throat. It’ll be over soon. There’s some relief in that. There’s a lot of relief in that.

I mean, was I really supposed to live in these chambers for the rest of my life? What kind of life would that have been anyway? I’m a burden. And, now, I won’t be. I let out another bitter laugh. “Guess you’ll be rid of me after all.”

“Syra,” Sitri sighs, apparently deciding at this moment on my deathbed I finally deserve the decency of being called my given name. Or what he thinks is my given name.

“Syra,” I echo, staring off at the far wall. Syra . There it is. The bitter prick of regret, settling on my chest like a heavy weight, crushing and overwhelming me so thoroughly it feels like the floor is falling out from underneath me.

Sitri’s brows buckle with concern and uncertainty. He must think I’m insane, sitting here repeating back my own name. He leans down into a squat in front of me and my heart finally kicks up in my chest.

Not yet.

“Wait.” I rasp. “I—it’s Pandora. That’s my name.”

His eyes widen a fraction. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s questioning my lucidity or if he’s just bewildered.

“Syra is my sister,” I breathe, letting my head thud back to the wall.

He searches my face, eyes flitting over mine as he puts the pieces together. “What do you…you switched places with her?”

I nod heavily.

“Come on.” He reaches forward and I pleadingly throw up my hands.

“Don’t. N—not yet. Let me say something first. Please.”

A horrified, dawning recognition lights in his eyes and he slowly shakes his head. “I’m not going to hurt you, pet.”

He’s not… This time I’m the one combing his features for clues as to what that might mean for me, my future. It’s only the tight painful clenching of my stomach that makes me drop my hands back down to my abdomen. He locks an arm under my legs and the other under my lower back, heaves me off the floor, and settles me back into the bed. By the time I look up, he’s already leaving the room.

“Wait—“ I call out, half panicked, he’ll disappear before I can say what I need to say. He whirls and the ferocity in his expression gives me pause. “I want, um, could you get a letter to her?”

“No.” One word, full of icy resolve.

No? My heart deflates. “I…I know you can’t go into Eden,” I pause, the writhing of my stomach making it difficult to form complete sentences. “But maybe one of the soldiers…at the prison,” I chime. “There has to be someone that will make the journey back.”

“No, no, nonono.” He shakes his head vigorously and the breath in my chest lodges.

“Please?”

“You’re not writing fucking goodbye letters,” he snaps.

Angry, he’s angry .

I don’t understand it. I can’t make sense of it. He’s nearly rid of me.

Hot tears slide down my cheeks. “Well, you could at least lie about it.”

“Don’t do that,” he snides, not even bothering to hide his disdain. He’s back at my side in two strides. I can’t bring myself to look at him. He places a hand under my jaw, forcing me to face him and he swipes away tears with the back of his hand like they’re a nuisance. “You’re not writing goodbye letters because you’re not going to die.”

I scrutinize his face for insight and find only icy resolve. “I…heard him. Don’t lie to me about it,” I say weakly. Please don’t lie to me.

He scoffs with a sneer. “He’s an idiot.”

My brow knits. I open my mouth to question him further but his eyes have gone distant, distracted. “I have to go,” he murmurs. “I…I’m going to go get Vera,” he says. I shift to my side, watching him fly around the room like a madman, collecting this and that. “Be right back,” he calls over his shoulder.

I don’t have the mental fortitude to puzzle over it. Not even this news of my imminent death is enough to keep my eyes from drifting shut. I’m stirred awake by a gentle tapping against my face.

“I’m sorry, but I need to heal you before I go,” he says, face hovering close.

“You’re leaving? Wait,” I say, struggling to tug myself up. “You won’t let me turn into one of those, will you—please—I’d rather—I don’t want to be—“

“You won’t,” he says, cutting me off. “I will be back. But I need to hurry, so lie back,” he says gently nudging my shoulder flat to the bed. His eyes flit back and forth between my stomach and my face. “Apologies but it's easiest to do as close to the affected area as possible.” He pulls my dress up, using the blanket at the same time to cover me. Once my stomach is bared, he places a warm palm across it. “This is probably going to hurt.”

“I thought you weren’t good at healing?”

“I’m…pretty good, actually.”

I’m skeptical, especially with the way his voice shoots up several octaves, but I take a deep breath and nod. Unlike the healer's magic, Sitri’s magic is warm, like seeping hot water as it penetrates my skin. Then it’s pulsing, ravaging the wounds of my stomach like the healer did, except so much worse. It doesn’t just touch whatever damage I’ve accrued, it shifts it, forces it closed. My body jolts against my will, but his hand keeps me planted there.

This time, a groan escapes me. It’s over as soon as it’s begun, and I jerk up, spewing more blood all over my lap. He waves it away as I’m still coughing. “Sorry,” I gasp out.

“Don’t be.” He draws a vial from his nightstand, and I narrow my eyes. “I know you don’t want to take this. I know you’re going to throw it up, but even if you only absorb a drop—it’s better than none.”

I loose another breath and nod my agreement based solely on his intensity.

“This one is for blood loss.” I take it in a trembling hand. The thought of swallowing anything is physically repulsive.

“You can do this,” he says as he notices my hesitancy.

I take several breaths before tipping the vial and forcing the bitter liquid down my throat. It feels wrong, burning into the hollow of my stomach.

“This one is for hydration.” He hands the vial off to me and it’s even harder to down than the first. I gag. “Hold it,” he demands. “Hold it for as long as you can.”

I wrap my arms around my abdomen as if that will aid me in holding it in. I slump back into the bed, exhaustion thick. “Okay, good,” he says, blowing out a breath. He turns around, and I look up to see Vera lurking in the corner, eyes wide. He strides toward her and places his hands on her shoulders. “You’ll stay?”

“I’ll have to check on the kitchens every so often, but I’ll come right back, Sitri, I swear.”

“Thank you.” He pulls her into a tight embrace and I look away as Vera’s face reddens. “You can’t do any healing, can you, Vera?”

Vera grimaces. “No, sorry, Sitri. I don’t have that kind of power.”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly. “It’s okay,” he repeats as if to reassure himself as he glances back in my direction. “I’ll be back.”

“And, if you do have to leave,” he drops his voice until it’s barely audible. “Just…leave. Don’t…do anything to her and tell no one.”

“Where are you—“

“—I really have to go,” he says, cutting her off. He scours the room once more in the way one might if they were worried they would forget something. “You remember the key, Vera?”

“Yes, I got it,” she assures him.

And, with that, he’s gone. No look back and no farewell. It doesn’t take me long to slip back under. I wake a half hour later to vomit the potions. This repeats the entire day, sleeping, waking to a convulsing stomach, and vomiting like something is eating me from the inside out. And it is.

Vera’s brows become permanently knitted in a combination of worry, pity, and distress. Despite my own suffering, I feel horrible that she has to be here, dealing with this. By the end of the night, I’m filled with uncertainty.

“Vera, where did Sitri say he was going exactly?”

“I…don’t know,” she says, shaking her head.

What if he left because he didn’t want to watch? Once the thought reaches me, I’m almost sure of it. Who would want to watch someone deteriorate?

She must see the trail of my thoughts because her lips purse. “I’m sure he has a plan.”

I don’t believe her. I beg her to write the letter Sitri refused to write. She obliges me in the end, with reassurances that she’s only doing this just in case. I spill everything to her. My real name and how I’d taken my sister’s place and my life as one of the Shrouded. Everything except the dāemon, of course. Sleeping becomes more difficult. I’m not quite awake either—in some in-between state, barely clinging to my sanity.