Page 75 of Unravelled
One moment, she had been standing in the empty space where Torvyn had been. The next, she was here, walking through the door, stepping into the quiet warmth of Ren’s quarters.
She didn’t remember climbing the stairs. Didn’t remember the halls passing by. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in the stillness. None of them spoke.
Tharion stood stiffly just inside the threshold, his posture carved from stone. His fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for something, but there was nothing left to hold. Nothing left to fight.
Mira felt it in herself, too. The exhaustion that went deeper than her bones, the weight of grief pressing down like a tide with no shore.
Ren said nothing. He guided Mira forward, his touch careful, as if she might break apart beneath it. But she was already broken. She barely noticed when he led her toward the bathing chamber, her feet moving without thought.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she passed. Blood. Her leathers were stiff with it, darkened, dried, clinging to her skin like a second layer. Her arms, her hands, stained. Some of it was hers. But most of it, most of it was Torvyn’s.
Her stomach twisted. A wave of nausea swelled in her chest. She swayed on her feet, her vision tilting. Ren snaked a hand around her. Steadying her before she could collapse. Mira barely registered his touch, barely felt the way he braced her against him, keeping her upright.
Steam curled from the deep bathing pool sunk into the floor, swirling like mist in the dim candlelight. The water rippled with the heat, dark and inviting, the scent of oils hanging in the air, clinging to the stone.
Ren's hands found the buckles of her leathers first, fingers gentle as they worked. Unbuckling. Peeling away. Mira didn’t move to help him. Didn’t stop him, either. Just stood there, motionless, as the layers fell away, piece by piece, the last remnants of battle stripped from her.
Her tunic clung to her skin, damp with sweat and blood. Ren hesitated, looking up at her. She nodded. Carefully, he tugged the fabric over her head. Slow. Deliberate. She barely felt the warm air hit her skin. Ren’s breath hitched.
The bruises had already begun to bloom, deep purples and sickly yellows, painted across her ribs, her arms, her shoulders. A dark map of the fight she had survived.
But Ren's focus landed on something else. The stab wound. Just beneath her ribs, an angry slash of red, the edges inflamed and tender. Ren’s jaw tightened.
His fingers hovered over it, careful, assessing. Mira didn'treact, she barely felt the sting of his touch. Her body was too worn, too hollowed out for fresh pain.
“This will need to be stitched,” he murmured, mostly to himself.
As he guided her into the pool, his movements stayed carefully deliberate.
Even as the warmth seeped into her bones, the blood stayed.
She sank into the water, as the heat wrapped around her, pulling her under.
Ren followed alongside her at the pool's edge, rolling up his sleeves, kneeling beside her.
His hands found hers. Gently, he cupped her fingers, dipping them into the water. Mira stared at the surface of the water, at the way it swirled, the blood unfurling like smoke.
Ren reached for a cloth, soaked it, and pressed it to her shoulder first. Careful. Soft. Wiping away the dried sweat, the filth of battle. He worked in silence, trailing the cloth down her arms, over her bruised ribs, up to the curve of her neck.
Ren’s hand dipped into the water again, dragging the cloth over her collarbone, washing away what was left of the night. Mira swallowed hard, staring at the ripples spreading out across the water, at the deep red that still swirled in lazy, dissolving patterns before vanishing beneath the surface.
Some things could be washed away. Some things couldn’t. Ren exhaled, his hand stilling just over her wrist. His voice was low, gentle. Careful.
"Will you be alright in here for a moment?" She blinked.
The words took a second to settle, to push through the fog in her mind. Would she? Mira let out a slow breath and nodded.
Ren studied her, his dark eyes searching, but he didn’t press. Didn’t make her say anything more. He just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod in return. Then, he rose, as he took a step away from the pool.
She stayed in the water, staring at the surface of the water.
The door creaked open. Tharion stepped inside. Mira lifted her head and looked over her shoulder, watching him. He looked awful. Worse than she had ever seen him.
His leathers were gone, but the dried blood still clung to his skin in places, streaked along his forearms, his collarbone. His hair was a mess, strands stiff with sweat and grime. His eyes, red-rimmed, hollowed-out.
Mira swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the bathing pool as if it could steady the weight pressing down on her chest. Tharion stood in the doorway, lost in the dim candlelight, looking like a man who had survived a battle only to realize the war had already been lost.
Her eyes flicked past him, toward Ren, who was moving behind him with slow, careful steps.
“It's okay, go on.” Ren murmured.
Tharion hesitated. Just for a breath. Just long enough that Mira saw the war waging inside him, the resistance, the stubborn refusal to let himself be taken care of when everything inside him was screaming that he didn’t deserve it.
But then he exhaled. And let Ren guide him forward. Mira turned away, giving them the space. She stared at the water instead, at the way the ripples distorted her reflection. But she still heard them. The rustle of fabric as Ren helped Tharion out of what remained of his clothing.
"I should’ve been there.” His voice was raw.
Mira’s hands curled into fists beneath the water. Ren didn’t answer right away. She heard the splash of water, the sound of Tharion lowering himself into the pool.
Mira didn’t turn, didn’t look. But she felt it, the way the grief settled between them, thick and inescapable.
“You couldn’t have stopped it,” Ren said, steady, even. “You know that.”
A ragged breath from Tharion. Then, lower, “But I could have been there.”
Mira closed her eyes, a tear slipping. Ren didn’t push. She heard the sound of water shifting, Ren’s quiet movements. Then the damp cloth being drawn over Tharion’s skin, Ren washing away the remnants of blood and battle.
For a long time, no one spoke. The water lapped gently against the edge of the pool, the steam curling around them like something sacred, something fragile. Ren waded in, slow and careful. Closer now. His hand settled gently on Mira’s shoulder, his warmth steady against her .
Tharion's voice was quiet, “I don’t... I don’t know how to do this without him.”
In that single, fractured confession pulled all the pieces into place. She had tried to make it something more, love, or at least the shadow of it. But now she saw the truth. Their bond wasn’t made for romance. It was built on loyalty, trust, and friendship.
Mira turned towards him, meeting his gaze. There was no room for embarrassment, no space for modesty. They had seen each other her bloodied, broken.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, Tharion looked like he might break. His jaw was clenched, brow furrowed, eyes shining with the weight of words left unsaid. Regret clung to him, raw, unspoken.
Tharion’s throat worked as he tried to swallow the weight behind his silence.
“I should have told you,” he rasped. “I wanted to. I just... didn’t know how.”
Mira gave a sad smile and shook her head, not in dismissal, but acceptance.
“It’s okay... I understand...”
His shoulders dropped, just slightly, like he’d been holding something for far too long, and had finally let it go.
Ren washed himself quickly, his movements efficient. He turned to her. His hands were steady as he guided Mira toward the edge of the bath, his grip firm but gentle.
The warmth had settled deep in her muscles, easing the tension coiled within her, but the moment the cool air met her damp skin, she shivered.
Without hesitation, Ren wrapped her in a thick towel, securing it around her shoulders with careful hands before tugging another around his hips. He crouched in front of her, the flickering light catching on the damp strands of his hair, casting his features in shifting shadow.
His eyes dropped to the deep red bloom beneath the towel, just beneath her ribs. Gently, he reached forward, fingers brushing against the edge of the fabric.
“Let me see,” he said, low and steady.
Mira didn’t resist. He peeled the towel back slowly, exposing the jagged tear in her side, the skin around it flushed and raw.
The blood had slowed, but not stopped, and Ren’s jaw clenched at the sight of it.
His fingers hovered for a moment before pressing gently along the skin, checking the depth, the spread.
“This needs tending,” he murmured, though the weight in his voice betrayed the quiet edge of fear threaded underneath.
Mira didn’t argue. She was too tired, too wrung out to protest as Ren carefully dabbed at the wound, his movements practiced and efficient. He worked in silence, save for the occasional exhale, his fingers gentle against the bruised, battered skin.
She watched him, her vision hazy with exhaustion. He was meticulous. Purposeful. As if this, tending to her, was the only thing in the world that mattered in this moment.
Tharion stood still in the water, his arms braced at his sides. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. He just breathed, slow and deep, as if he were trying to hold himself together one breath at a time.
Ren finished dressing the wound and helped Mira to her feet. A new towel placed snug around her as he led her out of the washroom and into the dimly lit bedchamber.
Waiting on the bed were three neatly folded sets of clothes. Loose pants. Soft, oversized shirts. Ren’s. She let out a slow breath, fingers brushing over the fabric. It was familiar. Safe.
Ren didn’t say a word as he turned away, giving her space to change. Mira let the towel slip from her shoulders and reached for the clothes. The fabric was worn and soft, the scent of wood smoke, distinctly Ren, clinging to it.
She pulled on the loose pants first, tying them at the waist before slipping the oversized shirt over her head.When she turned back, Ren was watching her from the doorway in his towel.
Not in a way that made her feel self-conscious, but in the way someone watches over something fragile. Something breaking.
He turned away as she crawled beneath the blankets, the soft fabric cool against her battered skin. She barely had the energy to pull them up over her shoulders, exhaustion pressing her deep into the mattress.
She heard him move back to the washroom, the soft shuffle of his footsteps against the floor. A murmur of voices. Then the sound of water sloshing as Tharion was helped out of the bath.
Mira closed her eyes, not out of sleepiness, but to steady herself against the quiet weight of grief in the air.
She listened. To the rustle of fabric as Tharion dressed.
To the steady, measured pace of Ren’s movements.
To the heavy silence that stretched between them all.
Then footsteps. She heard Tharion move toward the door, hesitation in his steps. He was leaving.
But before he could go, Ren’s voice cut through the quiet. “You’re staying in here, Tharion.”
The bed dipped beside her as Ren slid beneath the blankets. The warmth of him radiated through the space behind her. On the opposite side of Ren, another weight. Tharion. He hesitated only for a breath before settling in, silent, exhausted.
Mira exhaled slowly, the tension in her limbs loosening just slightly. No one spoke. No one needed to. They had survived the night. And for now, for just a moment, none of them had to be alone.
???
Mira stirred in the haze of sleep, the world soft and blurred around the edges. Dawn's first light filtered through the window, flickering across the room in shifting patterns. The warmth around her was steady, solid,
Ren’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist, his breath slow and even, buried in her hair. She barely had the strength to open her eyes, barely had the will to pull herself from the quiet comfort of it. His grip, even in sleep, was firm, like some part of him feared she might slip away if he let go.
Through the haze, she caught movement. Tharion. Standing by the window, his silhouette framed against the soft gold of the rising sun. His arms were crossed, his posture still and quiet, gaze locked on the horizon where night bled into morning.
The light flickered over his face, tracing the exhaustion carved deep into his features. Mira watched, or maybe only dreamed she did. The weight of sleep pulled at her again, the warmth of Ren’s embrace, the hush of the morning.
She let herself sink back into it, closing her eyes, slipping once more into the depths of sleep.