Chapter 27 - Thalia
The world fractures around me like broken glass.
Rafael's blood seeps between my fingers as I press them against his chest, his skin growing colder with each passing second. The concrete floor beneath us is hard and unforgiving, dusted with debris from the explosions that rocked the compound. Somewhere above, water drips steadily from damaged pipes, creating a rhythm like a failing heartbeat.
"Stay with me," I whisper, the words catching in my throat. "Please, Rafael. Just stay."
The pack moves around us in coordinated chaos—Aris barking orders, Bigby directing the incoming aid, Veronica kneeling beside us with her medical kit open. But it all feels distant, underwater, like I'm watching it happen to someone else. Someone whose mate isn't dying in her arms. Someone who didn't lead the man she loves into a trap.
"We need to move him," Veronica says, her voice cutting through my fog. "Thalia, honey, you have to let go so we can—"
"No." The word comes out raw, primal. My fingers curl tighter in Rafael's shirt. "I'm not leaving him."
"You don't have to." Her hand touches my shoulder, gentle but firm. "But we need to get him to the vans. He's losing too much blood. We’ve got IVs and beds set up in there. We can stabilize him."
The rational part of my brain knows she's right. But nothing feels rational anymore. Not since Rafael came crashing through that wall of rationality like an avenging angel, tearing apart everything I thought I knew about love, loyalty, and sacrifice.
More hands appear—Bigby and Ado lift Rafael onto a stretcher. Percy helps me stand on shaking legs. The movement sends pain shooting through my battered body, but I barely notice. I can only focus on Rafael's face, growing paler by the second.
"I'm sorry," I whisper as we move through the ruined compound, my voice breaking. "I'm so sorry, Rafael. Please just live. Please."
He doesn't respond. His eyes have closed, his breathing shallow and uneven. Through our bond, I feel him slipping further away with each step.
The journey out of the compound passes in fragments, like a broken film reel:
Sunlight hitting my eyes as we emerge, so bright it burns after the darkness below.
The crunch of boots on broken concrete, the air thick with smoke and cordite.
Maia being loaded into another vehicle, her face a mess of bruises, but her good eye finding mine with fierce determination.
The sound of sirens in the distance, growing closer.
And through it all, Rafael's presence in my mind growing fainter, like a radio signal fading to static.
I refuse to let go of his hand during the drive back to Rosecreek, even when Veronica needs to check his vitals and stitch closed the wound in his chest. She tells me his heartbeat is weak due to an electric shock—she asks what happened, but I can’t speak. I don’t look away even when my own injuries scream for attention. Even when darkness creeps at the edges of my vision, threatening to pull me under.
"Stay with me," I keep whispering, though I'm not sure if I'm talking to him or myself anymore. "Just stay."
Something wet hits my hand, which is clasped with his. It takes me a moment to realize I'm crying.
Time blurs again as we reach Rosecreek, the familiar streets passing in a haze of autumn colors and worried faces. The clinic appears through my tears—a squat brick building I've passed a hundred times without really seeing. Now, it might be the only thing standing between Rafael and death.
"Please," I whisper one more time as they wheel him inside.
But he can't hear me anymore. And all I can do is follow, my heart breaking with each step, praying to whatever gods might listen that I haven't destroyed the one good thing I never deserved to have.
***
Hours blur together in the stark white confines of Maisie's clinic. The fluorescent lights cast everything in a harsh, unforgiving glow that makes my head throb. Or maybe that's the concussion. I've lost track of my own injuries—they feel distant, unimportant compared to the steady beep of Rafael's heart monitor, Maia’s bed next to his.
"You need to let me check those ribs," Maisie says for the third time, her voice gentle but firm. She's been trading shifts with Veronica, both of them dividing their attention between Rafael's intensive care and my stubborn vigil. "You won't help him by letting yourself get worse."
I shake my head, not taking my eyes off Rafael's face. They've cleaned the blood away, bandaged the worst of his wounds, but he's still so pale. Too pale.
"I'm fine," I lie, though every breath feels like knives in my chest.
Maisie sighs, one hand resting absently over her baby bump. "Thalia—"
"Let me try," Veronica cuts in, appearing in the doorway. She looks exhausted but determined, her usually pristine scrubs splattered with blood—Rafael's blood. "Go rest, Mais. I've got this."
As they trade places, I catch their whispered conversation:
"She hasn't moved in hours."
"Watch her right side. Those bruises look bad."
"The pack's getting restless. They want answers."
I close my eyes, letting their words wash over me. Of course, the pack wants answers. I'm the traitor who nearly got their teammate killed. The spy who betrayed their trust. The reason Rafael lies here, hovering between life and death.
The door opens again, and Keira slips in. Her presence fills the small room like smoke, watchful and assessing. When she speaks, her voice is carefully neutral.
"Aris wants an update."
"Stable," Veronica replies, checking Rafael's IV. "But the next twenty-four hours are critical. That knife went deep."
I flinch at the memory. Keira's sharp eyes catch the movement.
"And her?" she asks, as if I'm not sitting right here. Maybe she can tell I’m too far gone. Maybe she, like the rest of them, knows I’ve been a traitor all this time.
"Refusing treatment," Veronica says dryly. "But alive."
Keira moves closer, and I force myself to meet her gaze. Whatever she sees in my face makes something in her expression soften slightly, and she levels me with a cool, neutral sort of look, not cruel but not kind either.
"The pack is divided," she says quietly. "Some want you gone. Others..." She glances at Rafael's unconscious form. "Well. They saw what he was willing to do for you."
"I understand," I whisper, my voice raw from disuse. "I'll leave as soon as he—"
"That's not what he'd want."
The new voice makes us all turn. Percy stands in the doorway, his usual easy smile replaced by something more serious. Behind him, I glimpse Ado's shorter frame, and beyond that, more pack members hovering in the hallway. They've been taking turns looking in, I realize. Keeping watch not just over Rafael, but over me too.
"You don't know what he'd want," I say, but the words lack conviction.
Percy snorts. "I know he just tore apart an entire compound to get to you. I know he disobeyed direct orders and stole Zane's truck—which, by the way, will never stop being funny." His expression sobers. "I know he really loves you. Wait ‘til he wakes up, and we can figure out what happens next. And you can explain yourself. But not right now.”
Tears burn behind my eyes. I blink them back, but one escapes, trailing hot down my cheek. Veronica pretends not to notice as she checks my vitals, her hands gentle as she finally, finally gets me to submit to examination.
"I didn't deserve him," I whisper. "I didn’t deserve any of it. I came here to destroy everything you built, and instead..."
"Instead, you fell in love," Keira finishes softly. "And when it mattered most, you chose us. Chose him."
"Not soon enough." The monitors beep steadily, marking each precious heartbeat. "I should have trusted him from the start. Should have told him everything."
"Yes," Percy agrees, but there's no judgment in his tone. "But you didn’t. And you can't change the past. We all know that.” He exchanges a knowing glance with Veronica. “All you can do is decide what happens next."
What happens next. As if it's that simple. As if I haven't spent the last ten years letting others decide my fate, letting the Smoke shape me into their perfect weapon. As if I even know how to make choices for myself anymore.
But then Rafael's fingers twitch in mine, just slightly, and the bond between us pulses with something warm and alive. Not consciousness, not yet, but... presence. As if even in his darkness, he's reaching for me.
"I want to stay," I breathe, the words feeling like confession. "I want to earn back your trust. All of you. I want..."
I can't finish, but Percy nods like he understands.
"Then stay," he says simply. "And prove to them what he already sees in you."
More tears fall, but this time, I let them come. Let Veronica clean and bandage my wounds as the pack drifts in and out, their presence a constant reminder of everything I almost lost. Everything I might still have a chance to keep, if I'm brave enough to try.
Snow begins to fall outside the window, coating Rosecreek in clean white. A fresh start. A blank page.
Maybe, just maybe, I can learn to write my own story on it.
***
Evening settles over Rosecreek like a heavy blanket, painting the clinic walls in shades of amber and gold. The snow has stopped, leaving behind a pristine silence broken only by the steady rhythm of monitors and the soft shuffle of nurses changing shifts.
I huddle in a blanket in the back room, unable to bear the sound of the heart monitors in the front. Their beeping has tormented me all day. The doctors both think I should sleep, but I can’t.
A sound from the next room draws me from my exhausted vigil. Through the bond, I feel Rafael's presence—still unconscious but stronger now, more stable. When I press my awareness against his, I catch fragments of dreams: running through snow, chasing shadows, searching.
Always searching for me.
"Thalia?"
The voice is weak, raspy, but I'd know it anywhere. My heart leaps as I stumble to my feet, ignoring the protest of my injuries as I move to the adjoining room.
Maia blinks up at me from her hospital bed, her dark eye bright despite the bruising that mars half her face.
For a moment, we just stare at each other, drinking in the sight of each other alive, free, together after so long apart.
Then her face crumples, and suddenly, I'm moving, crossing the space between us in three quick steps. We collide in a tangle of IV tubes and bandages, holding each other so tight it hurts.
"You idiot," she sobs into my shoulder. "You absolute idiot. Coming back there alone—what were you thinking?"
"I was thinking about you ," I choke out, burying my face in her hair. It still smells like concrete and blood, but underneath is the familiar scent of my best friend, my sister, in all but blood. "God, Maia, I’m so sorry—"
"Hey, no." She pulls back just enough to look at me, her split lip quirking in that familiar crooked smile. "I've had worse. Remember that time when—"
"Don't." I can't bear her jokes and deflections right now, not with the memory of her blood on Yannick's knife still so fresh. "Please don't pretend it wasn't bad. I should have come sooner. Should have found a way—"
"Stop." Maia’s hand finds mine, squeezing hard enough to hurt. "You did everything you could. You always have." Her smile turns sly despite her injured state, her shaking. "Besides, looks like you were a little busy falling in love."
Heat floods my cheeks. " Maia —"
"Oh no, don't even try to deny it." She shifts to make room beside her on the narrow bed, patting the space until I carefully settle next to her. "I want details. Is he as dreamy up close as he looked when we were both bleeding out? Because let me tell you, those cheekbones alone—"
"He's dying," I whisper, and just like that, the fragile moment of normalcy shatters. "He came after me, and now he's—he might not—"
"Hey." Maia's arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me close like she used to when we were teenagers huddled in the dark, comforting each other after another of Yannick's lessons. "I’ve been hearing his heart monitor in my dreams all afternoon. It sounds steady to me. And you know, that doctor with the good hair was talking on the phone to someone about how he’s stabilized—”
I let out a watery laugh. "You've been conscious for five minutes, and you're already collecting gossip?"
"What can I say? I'm talented." Her tone softens. "He loves you, Thalia. I talked to him. He wanted to keep you safe so badly, you should have heard him.” She sobers. “And I… I don’t regret what I did. I wanted you safe, alive, happy."
"I don't deserve it," I whisper. "I don’t deserve any of this. After everything I've done—"
"Stop." Maia's voice turns fierce. "You survived. We both did. Everything else—all the lies, all the missions—that wasn't you. That was what they made us do to stay alive. You adapted. You coped. And you did it far better than me—don’t you see, all this time, you were keeping me alive?" She takes my face in her hands, forcing me to meet her gaze. "But we're free now. Really free. And you deserve every bit of happiness you can grab with both hands. You can do anything you want to. And that man will follow you anywhere."
Tears spill down my cheeks as I lean into her touch. "I've missed you so much."
"Missed you too, dummy." Maia grins, then winces as it pulls at her split lip. "Now, are you going to tell me about that mating bond, or do I have to drag it out of you? Because girl, that is some romantic drama I need to hear about."
Despite everything—the pain, the guilt, the fear still churning in my gut—I find myself laughing. Trust Maia to face down torture and come out still able to tease me about my love life.
We talk until exhaustion claims us both, curled together on her hospital bed like we used to be on a mattress on the floor in the compound, which is rubble now, sharing stories and tears and careful laughter. She tells me about her time in Rockford the past two months, trying to make light of it but unable to hide the shadows in her eyes. I tell her about Rafael, about the pack, about finding a home I never meant to have.
As night falls over Rosecreek, casting long shadows through the clinic windows, I feel something settle in my chest. The bond pulses steady and warm, Rafael's presence a constant comfort even in unconsciousness. Maia's breathing evens out beside me, her hand still clasped in mine.
I let myself believe in tomorrow for the first time in ten years.
We're not okay—not yet. There are wounds that will take time to heal, trust that must be rebuilt, demons that won't be banished in a day. But we're alive. We're free.
Veronica dims the lights in the main room without us having to ask. I catch a glimpse of her face and know she’s happy about that ‘good hair’ comment she must have heard.
Through the window, stars begin to appear, bright against the winter sky. I watch them until my eyes grow heavy, listening to Maia's soft breathing. Just a few feet away, Rafael dreams of finding me.
Little does he know, I'm already home.