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She followed without a word.
The stairs creaked beneath her boots, but she moved like someone who already knew the layout, or didn’t care if she got lost. Her hand skimmed the bannister once — more reflex than balance — then fell back to her side. There was too much noise in her head to leave room for grace. Her fingers clenched tight around the charm in her palm, skin pale where it pressed.
She didn’t look at Thera until they reached the landing. When she did, it was sharp — not angry, not yet, just sharp. Focused.
“You said their body needs time,” Irene said, voice low. “Fine. I get that. But why are they here?”
She wasn’t trying to accuse, but the words had a certain edge anyway. Like she hadn’t slept. Like something inside her chest had cracked open and never quite closed again. They would all get in trouble.
“If they’re in danger — if something did this — keeping them in the middle of nowhere while you play nursemaid doesn’t exactly scream smart. You know what they'll think? A witch's got one of our own.”
But the fight drained out of her in the next breath. She wasn’t here to argue. Not really. Not yet.
“I just—”
She shook her head once, as if trying to clear it. Something too thick, too tangled.
“—This is not good, Thera.”
She stepped around Thera before she could be invited again, gaze already flicking toward the room she knew had to be his. Something magnetic pulled her toward it, like her magic could already feel his somewhere just past the threshold.
Only once her hand was on the frame did she pause, not turning back — just holding herself still there in the door like the question had waited until now to surface.
“What happened?”
Finally, her voice cracked a little. Not much. Just enough.
Because Irene could stitch a dream to keep a soul from falling apart. She could hold a barrier for days on raw will alone. But none of that meant anything if she didn’t know what tore Shiv down in the first place.
Her head snapped up as she felt the protective rune in her side door snap. She had know people would come. That the moment she had set the letter people would come to find them.
She rose from her chair and wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders. As she walked around the bed she noticed the spot where her head had left an indent in the bedding, Kanta’s motionless hand seemingly extending towards that spot. She didn’t want to leave them, a warped anxiety that the moment she left the room danger would enter it. Someone would come to hurt them again. But she swallowed it down. Someone was in her living room.
She hadn’t expected it to be Irene. She stood on her stairs and took in the young hunter witch, the girl looked bedraggled. She didn’t know how Irene had connected herself to Kanta but she could see the desperate worry in her eyes. Knew Irene wasn’t here to fight her. A weird knot of pride and longing formed in Thera’s stomach. She was happy Irene had found Kanta. That somewhere along the way the two had found each other. Thera let out a breath. “I’ve done everything I’m capable of for the moment. Their body needs time to heal.”
Thera descended the rest of the stairs. Her voice felt foreign to her as her aching hands clutched the shawl around her. “You are more than welcome to see them, but I fear their body needs time.” Another breath in as she tried to push away the memory of Kanta’s crumpled body, clenching her hands so she wouldn’t feel the memory of his blood coating them. “They need time to heal.” Thera turned back towards the stairs, a silent signal for Irene to follow.