Chapter 112— Ash on the Hands

Chapter 112— Ash on the Hands

Amara

A few hours had passed since the gunfire, the smoke, the escape. I’d been told Phoebe and Lee slipped out in the chaos and were heading for Liam’s place. That little fact was the only peace I could find as I paced the old man’s clinic floors. I’d been here before — upstairs, where Liam and I had crossed the line and felt the pull between us like a rope taut with thunder. For the first time I hadn’t flinched at someone’s touch.

Time stretched and snapped at once. The pounding in my chest was louder than anything else in the room while the brothers talked.

“He’s strong. He’ll be okay,” Clause said, voice rough and dry.

Ricky leaned against the wall, arms folded. “Stop pacing, Amara. You’ll wear holes in the floor.”

Their voices didn’t soothe. My dress, my hands, my face — all soaked with blood. I didn’t know if it was Liam’s or the guards’. For half a heartbeat I wondered if leaving him alive had been a mistake. I could have ended it all tonight. If Liam had died, maybe whatever tether kept me here would’ve floated away with him. Maybe that would’ve been easier.

The old man stepped down the hall and closed the distance between us. “He lost a lot of blood,” he said, voice soft as old cloth. Thomas moved closer and rested his hand on my shoulder.

“I put him in a medically induced coma for now,” the doctor said. “Let the body heal. The next forty-eight hours are critical, but he’s strong.”

Coma. Hours. Blood. Strong. I replayed those words until they scraped raw. My head felt fried, like someone had shaken it until the pieces inside blurred. We’d hardly had time together. Killian took that. He took so much. All I could do was breathe and wait. For the past year and a half I’d been waiting — waiting for Killian’s games, waiting for the escape, waiting to fight, waiting to break.

Thomas’s gaze scanned me, sharp with worry. “You haven’t said two words since we left,” he said quietly. “Little devil?”

The nickname lands like ice. I swallowed. “What is there to say? Liam’s hurt. He could die. Because of me.”

They all exchanged looks. Reggy cut the silence. “Amara… you’re wrong. He fought to find you, and Thomas did, sure. But this war has been brewing long before you walked into Killian’s life.”

“Yeah.” Ricky’s voice sliced the quiet. “He bled for you, but this could’ve happened anyway. He’s alive because you pulled him out and stopped the bleeding the best you could. And Killian’s dead.”

Clause’s whisper came like a gust. The words sank into my chest. What would I say when they realized I hadn’t actually killed him? Would they hate me? Understand? Care?

“Can I see him?” I asked.

The old man nodded. We followed him down the corridor. Liam lay still in the bed, pale as the ash that had been in my mouth moments before. Wires stitched him to machines. The monitors beeped, each rhythm a promise and a threat. Liam used to be all control and quiet confidence. Seeing him like that — fragile and small — made something inside me burn hotter than the anger I’d already been carrying.

I grabbed his hand; it felt clammy and warm. The monitors picked up tiny spikes.

“Don’t you dare die on me.” My voice came out hoarse. “Do you hear me, Liam? Don’t you leave me. I can’t do this without you.”

The brothers were quiet while my words hung there, hollow and too small. Thomas shifted closer, steadying me with that heavy, brotherly presence.

“You won’t have to do anything without him,” Thomas said, voice low as he tried to sooth something wild inside me. “Killian’s dead. We’re alive, like I said we would be. Phoebe’s free and on her way. Don’t worry, little devil.”

A ball formed in my throat. The words turned into acid. I fought them down and the sentence that came next ripped out.

“He isn’t…”

Thomas cocked his head. “He isn’t what?”

“He isn’t dead.” I squeezed Liam’s hand until my knuckles ached. I felt the brothers’ stares burn into my back. Thomas made a small, shocked sound, but his palm didn’t leave my shoulder.

The room went to pieces.

“What? What do you mean he isn’t dead?” Reggy shouted. “You killed him, right? Did you miss?”

“Why didn’t you say anything before we left?” Ricky demanded, eyes flaring.

“Do you expect us to trust you now?” Clause hissed, voice tight.

Voices rose into anger and disbelief. I felt Thomas step forward, a physical shield as well as a brother’s instinct. The room circled, questions stabbing like knives. I could feel my pulse at my throat.

“You didn’t tell us because…?” Clause pressed.

I turned, letting each of them meet my face. “Because there was a better way than killing him. Because I chose to strip him of power instead. I couldn’t let him take everything and leave you with nothing.”

“That sounds like a justification,” Reggy snapped. “It sounds like you decided for all of us.”

Ricky moved closer, jaw clenched. “You made the choice that put Liam here bleeding. You gambled with him.”

“You think I wanted this?” I spat. “You think I wanted anyone hurt? I thought I could end him and end it. But not like that. Not by his rules. Not by killing him and letting the system keep its shape.”

Thomas’s eyes cut through the room like a blade. He did not look at me like the others did — with the salt of betrayal and accusation; he looked at the bigger frame of the wound that had been left on all of us. “You don’t know what he did to us,” he said, voice low and full of something that smelled like old scars. “Death is too good for him.”

Silence slammed into us. The words hung like smoke — true, raw, and impossible to swallow quietly. It could be a rallying cry, or it could be the wedge that split anything we might try to build together.

I stared at Thomas, at Ricky’s fists at his sides, at Reggy’s furious, uncertain stare. The room thrummed — not with the beeps of machines, but with the tension of everything about to break. I had not wanted this fight tonight. But I had not wanted Killian to keep it either.

Thomas stepped closer and rested his hand heavier on my shoulder, a weight that steadied and warned all at once.

“Whatever we do,” he said, voice steady as a struck bell, “we do it together. Or we walk away.”

His eyes locked on mine hard, and I could not tell whether the words were promise or ultimatum. The brothers’ faces were a map of decisions that hadn’t yet been made.

Outside, the wind picked up, whisking ash along the street like a reminder. The question hung between us: would this argument cleave us or carve us into something stronger? I clenched Liam’s hand and let the silence answer.