Chapter 39: Consequences

Seraphine's POV

The door swung open.

I didn't look up. Still sitting on the floor.

Back against the bed. Bleeding hands in my lap.

Let them stare. I don't care anymore.

Footsteps. Light. Controlled.

Not Kaelen's heavy stride.

Someone else.

I knew those footsteps.

Cordelia.

My stomach twisted.

"Quite the energetic prisoner, aren't you?"

Her voice. Cold. Mocking.

Cordelia.

She stood in the doorway. One hand holding a tray. The other carrying a medical kit.

Those amber eyes swept the room. Taking it all in.

The sealed window. The blood on the floor. My torn fingernails.

A smirk tugged at her lips.

But it didn't reach her eyes.

She's not enjoying this. She's just... done with me.

The guilt hit like a physical blow.

This is the woman who showed me around town. Who defended me to Kaelen. Who believed in me.

And I tried to run.

---

I scrambled to my feet.

Forgot I was still wrapped in the blanket.

It slipped. Fell to the floor in a heap.

But desperation won out.

"Please—"

I reached out. Toward her arm.

Then I saw my hands.

Blood.

Dried blood under my nails. Fresh blood on my fingertips.

Red. Dark. Ugly.

My hand froze mid-air.

I can't. I can't touch her like this.

My arm dropped. Helpless. Useless.

Hanging at my side like dead weight.

I looked up at Cordelia.

Eyes wide. Pleading.

Please understand. Please help me.

But also—fear.

What if she won't? What if she just leaves?

Tears blurred my vision.

"Please—" My voice cracked. "Tell Kaelen to take those boards off—"

The words tumbled out. Desperate. Pathetic.

"I can't—I'll go crazy in here—"

Cordelia looked at me.

Those amber eyes. Once warm. Now ice.

Taking in my naked body. My bleeding hands. My tear-stained face.

She won't help. Why would she help?

You threw her kindness back in her face.

---

"Clean your hands first."

Her voice was flat. Professional.

Not angry. Not sympathetic.

Just... empty.

She set down the tray and medical kit on the nightstand.

Gestured toward the bathroom with her chin.

"Then put on some clothes."

I stood there. Frozen.

She's not leaving. She's staying.

That's something. That's more than I deserve.

"Now, Seraphine."

I stumbled toward the bathroom.

Naked. Shaking. Ashamed.

Felt her eyes on my back.

---

I turned on the faucet. Cold water.

Held my hands under the stream.

Watched the blood swirl down the drain.

Pink. Then clear.

My fingers trembled.

The torn nails stung under the water.

This is what desperation looks like.

This is what you've become.

I scrubbed. Hard. Trying to get every trace of blood.

Cordelia appeared in the doorway.

Leaning against the frame. Arms crossed.

Watching me.

"Thorough," she commented. Voice flat.

I kept scrubbing.

Can't look at her. Can't face that disappointment.

Finally, the water ran clear.

I turned off the faucet.

My hands were clean. Raw. But clean.

"Better." Cordelia's voice. Still flat. "Now get dressed."

She disappeared from the doorway.

I heard her moving around in the bedroom.

Setting up. Preparing.

To patch me up. Again.

Because I keep destroying myself.

---

I walked back into the bedroom.

Grabbed the clothes from the bed.

Simple shirt. Pants.

My hands were still wet. Making the fabric stick.

I fumbled with the shirt. Clumsy. Pathetic.

She's watching. She's watching you fall apart.

Finally got it on. Then the pants.

When I turned back, Cordelia was sitting on the edge of the bed.

Medical kit open beside her.

"Sit down."

Not a request. A command.

I sat. Leaving space between us.

The mattress dipped under my weight.

She used to sit closer. Used to joke while treating wounds.

Now there's this... distance.

"Let me see your shoulder first."

She reached for the bandage.

I flinched when she peeled it off.

"Hiss—"

The air hit the wound. Stinging. Fresh pain.

"Healing well."

Professional. Detached.

Like she's examining a stranger.

She cleaned the wound. Applied new antiseptic.

Her hands were gentle despite everything.

Muscle memory. She can't help being careful.

But her face—her face was empty.

No warmth. No softness.

Just cold efficiency.

This is what I did. This is what betrayal looks like.

---

She wrapped fresh bandages around my shoulder.

Tight. Secure.

Then grabbed my hands.

Stared at my torn fingernails. The raw fingertips.

Something flickered in her expression.

Disappointment. Again. Always disappointment.

"You did this to yourself."

Not a question. A statement.

I didn't answer.

What can I say?

Yes, I clawed at the window like a trapped animal?

Yes, I'm pathetic?

She opened a bottle of antiseptic. Poured it on my fingers.

Burning.

I clenched my jaw. Refused to make a sound.

Won't give her the satisfaction.

But my eyes watered. Fresh tears mixing with the old ones.

Stop crying. Fuck, stop crying—

Cordelia started bandaging each finger. One by one.

The silence stretched. Heavy. Suffocating.

I couldn't stand it.

"I just want—"

"I know what you want." She cut me off.

Her amber eyes locked on mine.

Sharp. Cold. Unforgiving.

"But what you want doesn't matter anymore."

The words hit like a slap.

Ouch. That hurt more than the wounds.

But wasn't it true?

I gave up my right to ask for anything when I tried to run.

---

She finished bandaging the last finger.

Stood up. Started packing the medical kit.

"If you keep doing this—" She gestured to my hands. "—I won't come back to help."

Her voice was flat. Matter-of-fact.

But I heard the pain underneath.

She doesn't want to do this. Doesn't want to keep seeing me destroy myself.

But she has to. Because she's Gamma. Because it's her duty.

I clenched my bandaged fists. Pain shot through my fingers.

"You can't keep me locked up like this—"

Cordelia turned. Looked at me.

Those amber eyes were ice.

But beneath the ice—fire.

"We can. And we will."

She stepped closer. Not threatening. Just... tired.

"You betrayed us, Seraphine."

Each word precise. Cutting.

"Actions have consequences."

I know. Fuck, I know—

I opened my mouth to argue.

But she kept talking.