Chapter 112: The Slow Wound
Nightfall
The night held its breath.
Selene lay on the couch, one arm draped over her eyes, the other limp at her side. The power had flickered out around sunset, leaving the apartment in a velvet gloom, lit only by a single oil lamp on the kitchen counter and the faint orange blush of embers dying in the stove. She hadn't spoken in the last hour. Not since Aria came back.
Not since she caught the scent of pine needles clinging to her skin.
Aria sat near the foot of the couch, her back against the wall, knees tucked loosely to her chest. The floor creaked whenever she shifted her weight, but she didn't rise. She was letting Selene breathe — or drown — at her own pace.
The silence wasn't comfortable. But it wasn't dangerous either.
It was held. Contained.
Safe.
"I should've followed you," Selene said eventually, voice rough with restraint. "The second you stepped outside."
"I knew you'd want to."
Selene's mouth curled faintly, no humor in the shape. "So you waited until I couldn't."
"I needed to see if he'd try again," Aria said. "If he'd step over the line."
"Did he?"
Aria paused. "He brushed it. But he didn't cross."
Selene moved her arm from her face, eyes gleaming faintly in the firelight as she looked at Aria. "You sure?"
Aria nodded.
"He called me weak," Selene said. "Did he say it to you, too?"
Aria's voice was low. "He said you used to be predictable. Clean."
Selene winced. "Yeah. That sounds like him."
Aria unfolded slowly, rising to her feet with the same care someone might use handling a wound that hadn't fully closed. She crossed the short space between them and crouched beside the couch, searching Selene's face with a gaze that softened only at the edges.
"He's wrong," Aria said. "You were never clean. Just hollow."
Selene let out a breath that hitched before it steadied. "You make it sound like I was dead."
"You were dying," Aria said plainly. "I just stayed long enough to see it stop."
Selene sat up, her muscles stiff, the blanket pooling around her waist. Her eyes searched Aria's face — her mouth parted like she wanted to say something sharp. But the sharpness never came.
"You make it hard to lie to myself," she murmured.
Aria didn't smile. "That's the point."
They stood in the half-dark together, a hush growing in the seams between their words.
Selene turned toward the window, the glass fogged from the warmth of the stove inside. Beyond it, the forestline had gone black. No stars. No moon. Just branches like fractured bones against a deeper dark.
"He won't leave us alone," she said finally. "He didn't come to kill me. He came to destabilize me."
"And?" Aria asked.
Selene hesitated. Then: "He did. A little."
There was no shame in the admission. Just weariness.
Aria took a slow step closer. "Do you trust me?"
Selene's eyes flicked to hers. "Yes."
"Then trust that you don't have to hold this alone."
Selene was quiet. Then she lifted her hand, carefully — hesitantly — and placed it on Aria's side, just above her hip. Aria didn't flinch. She let Selene find the anchor in her.
"You said you were afraid of not being fast enough," Aria murmured. "But the truth is — you were the first person to ever move before the world burned down around me."
Selene's fingers curled slightly. "Because you made me want to live."
For a long moment, they stayed like that. Then Aria took Selene's hand, lacing their fingers together, and gently tugged her toward the kitchen.
"Come on," she said softly. "If the power's out, we'll need to start rationing the cold storage. Might as well make a proper meal."
Selene gave a faint grunt. "You're still thinking about food?"
"I always think about food when I'm trying not to bleed."
Selene raised an eyebrow. "Are you?"
Aria didn't answer right away.
But she didn't have to.
The meal was small — half a jar of smoked greens, a few strips of rehydrated protein, and the last of the black salt crackers. They ate mostly in silence, seated on the floor across from each other. The lamplight flickered on the edge of the table, their shadows soft and long on the wall.
Selene watched Aria's hands. Watched the way she broke the crackers evenly. The way her eyes stayed downcast but alert.
She was thinking about something. Turning it over in her mind.
"What is it?" Selene asked.
Aria looked up. "You said he didn't come to kill you."
"He didn't."
"But he would. If I weren't in the way."
Selene's jaw tensed.
"That's the difference," Aria continued. "He sees you as something that belongs to him. Not someone he has to earn."
Selene set her food down. "And I'm not something anyone gets to keep."
"Not unless you choose them."
Selene's throat worked. She looked away.
"Did I ever tell you what he said to me?" Aria asked. "Out there. Just before he left?"
Selene's gaze snapped back. "No."
"He said I was the breach."
The words hung in the air like smoke that wouldn't rise.
Selene's fingers closed tightly around her bowl. "That sounds like Ezra."
Aria leaned forward. "But he was wrong about what that meant."
Selene frowned.
"I'm not the crack in your armor," Aria said. "I'm the space you made when you let something grow."
Selene's eyes shimmered, just faintly. She reached across the gap and took Aria's hand again, not lacing fingers this time — just holding. Anchoring.
"I want to burn that part of me out," Selene whispered. "The part that still wonders if I should've pulled the trigger. That wants to fix it the old way."
"You don't have to burn it," Aria said. "You just have to stop feeding it."
Selene let out a breath — soft, shaky.
Aria moved closer, their knees brushing. She searched Selene's expression, then leaned in slightly.
"Do you want to rest?" Aria asked. "I'll take watch."
Selene shook her head. "Not yet."
She touched Aria's jaw, gently. Her hand trembled slightly, but she didn't pull away. "I don't want to be asleep when you're near. I want to remember this. This quiet."
Aria's breath caught. She nodded, and leaned into the touch just a little.
"Then stay," she whispered.
"I'm not going anywhere," Selene said.
Later, when the fire died to coals and their voices had faded, they curled on the couch again — this time side by side. Selene's arm was wrapped around Aria's waist, and Aria's head tucked into the crook of her shoulder.
It wasn't perfect.
Selene still flinched in her sleep. Aria still listened for footsteps that never came. The silence was still laced with the knowledge that Ezra wasn't finished.
But it was the closest thing to peace either of them had tasted in days.
And in that fragile hush — limbs entwined, breath steady, the bloom beneath Aria's ribs pulsing like a second heartbeat — they held each other like a promise they weren't willing to break.
Not this time.
Not again.