Chapter 21 Soon

Chapter 21 Soon
There were many things I didn’t believe in.

Gods. Fate. Mercy. People above all. I hated feeling helpless and at mercy of others but i never truly had a choice.

They were all stories told to make pain feel purposeful. Lies dressed up as hope. I had come to despise everyone in this world because everyone, without exception, hurt me in the end. Some with cruelty. Some with silence. Some by promising safety they could never truly give.

This house was no different.

I sat on the edge of the bed while Loren cleaned my wounds, his movements careful, efficient, wordless. The quiet felt heavier than screaming ever could. My hands were clenched so tightly in my lap that my fingers had gone numb, but I didn’t loosen them. I needed the pain. Needed something solid to remind me I was still here.

Azran’s brother.

The words replayed in my head over and over, refusing to lose their edge. The thing in the forest hadn’t been a nightmare. It hadn’t been some nameless monster.

It had been family.

My stomach twisted violently and I swallowed hard, bile burning my throat. What kind of man had a brother like that? What kind of world let something like that exist so close, so patient, so aware of me?

Loren wrapped fresh bandages around my shoulder, his jaw tight. He still hadn’t looked at me properly.

“Does it hurt?” he asked finally.

“Yes,” I said, though I wasn’t sure which part I meant.

He nodded like he expected that answer. Like pain was the only honest thing left between us.

“You have a fever,” he added after a moment, pressing the back of his fingers to my temple. His touch was cool. Kind. It made something in my chest ache painfully. “I’ll bring medicine.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My thoughts were too loud, crashing into each other, spiraling in directions I didn’t want to follow. Brother. Blood. Boundaries. Warnings that came too late.

Loren left quietly.

The room felt enormous without him. Too open. Too exposed. Every shadow looked sharper now, every sound a potential threat. I drew my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around myself, rocking slightly without realizing it.

I was shaking.

Not from the cold. From shock.

I had walked into the forest thinking the worst thing that could happen was getting lost. I had been so stupid. So ignorant. The outside world wasn’t kinder than the one I’d known before. It was just better at hiding its teeth.

Tears blurred my vision before I could stop them. I pressed my hand over my mouth, biting down on a sob, but it escaped anyway. Then another. Then I was crying in earnest, shoulders trembling, breath coming apart in broken pieces.

I wasn’t strong. I had never been strong. I had only been enduring.

The door opened softly and Loren returned with a glass of water and tablets. He helped me lie back against the pillows, lifting my head just enough to help me swallow the medicine. His presence grounded me in a way nothing else had since the forest.

“You’re safe,” he said quietly.

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to.

But safety felt temporary here. Conditional.

As the medicine began to weigh my limbs down, exhaustion swept through me like a tide. My thoughts slowed, blurring at the edges, fear mixing with fever until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

Just before sleep claimed me, one last thought surfaced, sharp and cold.

If Azran’s brother wanted me.

Then this house wasn’t a refuge.

It was a battlefield.

And I drifted into unconsciousness knowing, with aching certainty, that the worst was still waiting.

Sleep didn’t take me gently.

It dragged me under in waves, fever-heavy and distorted, where time lost its shape and my body felt like it no longer belonged to me. I drifted in and out, aware only of heat and ache and the strange sensation of being watched even with my eyes closed.

Someone adjusted the blankets at some point. Cool hands at my temples. A cloth on my forehead. I murmured without meaning to, words dissolving before they reached my tongue. Loren’s voice hovered near, low and steady, saying my name like an anchor he kept throwing into deep water.

I woke again sometime later, disoriented.

The room was dim, evening light bleeding through the curtains in dull amber streaks. My throat was dry. My limbs felt wrong, heavy and weak, as if I’d been poured into myself incorrectly. When I tried to move, pain flared along my shoulder and back, sharp enough to steal my breath.

I lay still after that.

The fever hummed beneath my skin, making everything feel unreal. Thoughts slid in and out of focus. The forest. The whispers. Azran’s voice, hard and absolute. My brother.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Family was supposed to mean safety. Or at least loyalty. I had never known either, but even I understood that brothers were meant to protect each other, not… whatever that was. The thing in the forest hadn’t felt mindless. It had known exactly how to hurt me without killing me. How to scare without finishing the job.

As if it wanted me alive.

The realization made my stomach churn.

I turned my head slightly and noticed a glass of water on the bedside table, untouched. Loren must have left it there. The sight of it tugged something loose in my chest, a fragile gratitude mixed with guilt. He hadn’t deserved my fear or my snapping earlier. None of them did. But fear didn’t care about fairness.

I pushed myself up just enough to drink, hands trembling so badly I spilled some down my chin. The water tasted faintly metallic, or maybe that was just my mouth. When I lay back down, exhaustion hit me all over again, heavier than before.

I stared at the ceiling, counting my breaths like I used to on the worst nights. In. Out. In. Out.

You’re here. You’re alive. For now.

A soft sound pulled my attention toward the window.

Not a knock. Not a scrape.

A breath.

I froze.

The curtains stirred slightly, though there was no breeze in the room. My heart began to pound, slow at first, then frantic. I told myself it was the fever. Hallucinations were common with high temperatures. Loren had said so once, in passing.

Don’t look, my mind whispered.

Don’t confirm it.

But my body betrayed me, eyes sliding toward the glass.

The windowpane was fogging.

Not all at once. Not evenly. Just one small patch, blooming outward in a slow, deliberate circle, like someone exhaling against it from the other side.

My pulse roared in my ears.

No footsteps. No shadows. Just that soft, intimate clouding of the glass.

Then, as I watched, letters began to form in the condensation. One by one. Careful. Unhurried.

S

o

o

n

My breath hitched so sharply it hurt.

The word lingered for a heartbeat longer, then faded as the fog evaporated, the glass returning to its clear, innocent state.

As if nothing had happened.

As if I hadn’t seen it.

As if whatever stood outside hadn’t wanted me to know one thing with terrifying certainty.

This wasn’t over.

It was only waiting.