Ronan
She looked like death had already claimed her and changed its mind.
I don't remember much after Silas shouted her name. Just… red. The color of her blood smeared across her hoodie like war paint. Her knees buckled as I lunged forward, and the way she collapsed into my arms—like a broken marionette, strings cut clean through—will haunt me forever.
Her skin was ice. Her lips blue.
And she hadn't said a word.
She didn't even cry.
We carried her to the car in silence. Kade drove like a demon possessed, tires screaming as we tore down back roads toward the house.
Not our house.
The house. The one on the hill outside of town, hidden behind trees and secrets and a gate no one asked about. The one with rooms none of us used anymore because we hadn't needed to—until now.
She didn't stir the entire way there. Her chest barely moved. Each shallow breath made my gut clench tighter.
Silas sat beside her in the backseat, whispering things like "stay with us" and "you're okay", but his hands were shaking and his voice cracked like porcelain.
And I—I didn't speak.
Because I couldn't.
Because I had looked her in the eyes every day for the last four years and I hadn't seen this.
Two hours later, Dr. Calloway pulled his gloves off, his jaw tight, the lines around his eyes deeper than I'd ever seen them.
"She was two hours away from full systemic shutdown," he said, voice grim. "That means death, boys. You found her just in time."
I looked down at Aeris—small and still in the oversized guest bed, drowning in clean sheets that made her look even more fragile. The medical equipment beeped quietly behind her. Her wrist was hooked to an IV. Her lips still hadn't regained their color.
"Tell us," Kade said. One word. Rough. Unsteady.
Dr. Calloway sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Her right wrist has been fractured and re-healed incorrectly, probably more than once. Two ribs are cracked—again, old injuries. Her back is a mess of scar tissue, fresh and faded. Bruises in multiple stages of healing. Severe dehydration. Malnourishment. Her body's been starved, physically and mentally."
"No." Silas stepped back, shaking his head. "No. That can't be right. She's… I mean, she's quiet and weird but—she was walking around. She laughed once when someone slipped in the cafeteria. She—she wasn't dying."
"She was surviving," the doctor snapped. "There's a difference."
My ears rang.
The walls felt too close.
I turned, gripping the edge of the fireplace mantle so hard my knuckles went white.
How the fuck did I not know?
Every sarcastic comment. Every snide jab. Every time I pulled her hood back just to watch her flinch.
She wasn't hiding because she was weak.
She was hiding because she was being hunted.
By her own blood.
I think part of me knew. Somewhere, buried deep beneath the smug superiority I wore like armor, I felt it. The way her eyes darted whenever someone raised their voice. How she never ate more than a protein bar. How she flinched—always just a second too slow to hide it.
And I did nothing.
No. Worse.
I made it harder for her to breathe.
"She's not waking up yet," the doctor said. "Her body's in forced shutdown. She needs rest. Fluids. Heat. Food, eventually. And people who don't treat her like shit."
His eyes burned into us. All three of us. As if we were the monsters she needed saving from.
And maybe… he wasn't wrong.
Hours passed. Kade barely moved from the chair near the bed. Silas sat on the floor with his head in his hands.
I paced the hallway.
Back and forth.
Back and fucking forth.
I couldn't sit still. I couldn't breathe.
Every memory replayed like a horror reel in my head. Four years. Four years of throwing knives at a girl who was bleeding behind her smile. A girl whose bones were breaking while we made jokes about her silence.
This wasn't some tragic backstory shit you see in movies.
This was real.
We failed her.
And the part that crushed me worst?
She never asked for help.
Because she didn't think she deserved it.
Sometime near dawn, I walked back into the room. The air was thick with antiseptic and shame.
I pulled a blanket over her shoulders, gently, like she might shatter.
She didn't stir.
My voice broke before I could stop it.
"I'm sorry."
No one heard it but her.
And maybe that's all that mattered.