Beginning #2
“Bad," I admit. My voice is rough. Raw. “It’s bad, Amethyst. I don’t—" I stop. Swallow hard. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Six days of nothing. No purpose. No structure. No—"
“No hunt," she finishes. I nod. She’s quiet for a moment. Thinking. Assessing. Then she releases my hand. Slides out of bed. Stands in front of me. “Sit," she says.
I sit on the edge of the bed. She steps between my knees. Her hands come up to frame my face. Thumbs brushing along my cheekbones.
“Look at me," she says. I do. Her eyes are dark. Serious. But not afraid. Never afraid. “We’ll figure this out," she says. “Okay? We’ll figure it out."
I want to believe her. I want to believe that there’s a solution. That the Raven will call. That there will be a mission. A target. A purpose. But six days of waiting has taught me that wanting something doesn’t make it real.
“What if the Raven never calls?” I ask. My voice is barely above a whisper.
“What if this is it? What if I keep waking up every day and the hunger keeps growing? What if one morning I stop fighting it? What if I—" I stop. Can’t finish the sentence. Can’t say the words out loud. But Amethyst hears them anyway.
“Until you what?" she asks quietly. “Until you hurt me?"
I close my eyes. Nod.
“Kade." Her voice is soft. Gentle. “Look at me."
I open my eyes.
“You won’t hurt me,"she says.
“You don’t know that."
“Yes, I do."
“Amethyst—"
“I know you," she interrupts. “I know what you are. I know what you need. And I know that even at your worst, even when you’re spiraling, even when the hunger is eating you alive—you won’t hurt me."
I want to believe her. God, I want to believe her.
I want to take those words and nail them into place.
Make them permanent. Something solid. Something I can hold onto.
But wanting has never changed who I am. I’ve felt the hunger take over.
I’ve watched my hands do things I couldn’t stop.
And I know that wanting to protect her isn’t the same as being able to.
“I’m not sure I believe that anymore," I say quietly. She leans down. Presses her forehead against mine.
“Then believe this," she whispers. “I’m not afraid of you. I’ve never been afraid of you. And I’m not going to start now."
Her hands slide from my face to my shoulders. Down my arms. She takes both my hands
in hers. Holds them between us.
“These hands," she says softly, “have killed twenty women. They’ve broken bones and torn flesh and ended lives." I try to pull away. She holds tighter. “But they’ve also touched me," she continues. “They’ve held me. Protected me. Brought me back from the edge."
“That was different—"
“It wasn’t," she interrupts. “You think the hunger is worse now because you’re isolated. Because you don’t have structure or purpose. But Kade—you’ve always had the hunger. It’s always been there. And you’ve always chosen not to hurt me."
“I had control then—"
“You have control now."
“I don’t—"
“You do." Her voice is firm. Absolute. “You’re standing here terrified of what you might do,” she says. “If you wanted to hurt me, Kade, you wouldn’t be standing across the room fighting yourself.”
I stare at her. At the certainty in her eyes. The unwavering trust. It should comfort me. Instead, it terrifies me. Because what if she’s wrong? What if the hunger wins? What if I wake up one morning and she’s not breathing and my hands are covered in blood and I can’t remember how it happened?
“I know that look,” she says quietly. “I know where your head is right now. Stop. You’re already ten steps ahead, imagining the worst. Instead of thinking about what might happen and focus on what is happening. Right now. In this moment."
“What’s happening right now is that I’m barely holding on," I say. My voice cracks. “What’s happening right now is that I’m standing on the edge and I don’t know how much longer I can keep my balance."
“Then let me help you," she says.
“How?"
She’s quiet for a moment. Thinking. Then she releases my hands and steps back.
“Get some sleep," she says. “A few hours. Real sleep. Not just lying there watching me."
“I can’t—"
“You can," she interrupts. “And you will. Because you’re no good to either of us if you’re running on empty."
I want to argue. Want to tell her that sleep won’t fix this. That a few hours of rest won’t make the hunger go away. But I’m so tired. So fucking tired. And maybe she’s right. Maybe I just need to close my eyes for a while. Reset. Regroup. Maybe.
“Okay," I say quietly.
She nods. Satisfied. “Lie down," she says.
I do. Stretch out on the bed. My body is heavy.
Exhausted. Every muscle aches from six days of pacing and chopping wood and running and not sleeping.
Amethyst climbs in beside me. Curls against my side.
Her head on my chest. Her arm across my stomach.
“Close your eyes," she murmurs. I do. “Breathe," she says.
I do. I take a big breath in through my mouth and let it out slowly through my nose. In. Out. In. Out. Her breathing syncs with mine. Steady. Rhythmic. Grounding.
“I’ve got you," she whispers. “I’ve got you, Kade. Just let go."
I want to. God, I want to. But the hunger is still there.
Still building. Still whispering in the back of my mind.
Still asking what if. I tighten my arm around her.
Hold her close. Focus on the warmth of her body against mine.
The weight of her head on my chest. The sound of her breathing.
Not the hunger. Not the what-ifs. Just her.
Just this. Just now. My eyes grow heavy.
My thoughts start to blur. The edges soften.
And for the first time in six days, I feel myself start to drift.
Not sleep. Not yet. But close. So close.
Amethyst’s hand moves in slow circles on my stomach. Soothing. Grounding.
“I’ve got you," she whispers again. And maybe—just maybe—I believe her. My breathing slows. Deepens. The hunger is still there. Still waiting. But for now, in this moment, with her warmth against my side and her voice in my ear— It’s quiet. And I let myself fall.