CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I hadn’t thought much about what happens when we die.
But Licia had.
I remember the day of the bridge dare. Will and Aran were walking ahead, still sulking their loss, and Licia couldn’t stop grinning, basking in the thrill of it.
“Did you see his face?” she laughed, tossing a rock into the ditch. “He looked like he was gonna cry. ‘You cheated,’” she said in a silly voice. “Like he didn’t shove me first.”
“You almost fell,” I said.
“Almost doesn’t count.”
We didn’t talk about how close it had been. What could’ve happened if she’d slipped.
Then she asked, “Do you ever think about dying?”
“What?”
“Not like in a sad... sad, just what happens after. Do you think the gods take us somewhere? Like up in the sky? Or do we just... stop being?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t really like thinking about it.”
“I think about it a lot,” she went on, kicking at a clump of dirt. “Like, do we go up there?” She pointed at the clouds. “Or down there?” She nodded toward the ground. “Or maybe somewhere else.”
“I don’t know…”
She laughed a little. “I’m not scared of it. I just wanna know. It’s like when I get a vision. It just shows up, and then I can’t stop thinking about it. What it means.”
“Do you think they come from the gods?” I asked. “Your visions.”
She shrugged. “Sometimes. Other times it just feels like... noise. Like I’m hearing stuff I’m not supposed to.”
Crickets chirped in the tall grass around us.
“I used to think it meant something,” she said. “Like maybe I was special. Chosen or something. But now... I’m not sure.”
I looked at her. “Why not?”
“Because sometimes I see really awful things. Things I can’t stop. Things I wish I didn’t see.”
She went quiet, then whispered, “And sometimes I think maybe they’re not from the gods at all.”
I still didn’t know what to believe. My mother had told me we’d be reborn, that our souls never really died. The Eredians believed in judgment. That we’d stand before the Eye, punished if we’d failed, and rewarded if we’d served.
What I didn’t expect was the sharp sting of bleach, or the itch of scratchy linens against skin. Not the low murmur of distant voices or the soft clatter of metal trays echoing through hallways.
I forced my eyelids open.
Light hit me. A weak, gray kind of daylight filtered through grimy windows.
Everything looked drained, like someone had wrung all the color out of the world. Pale bodies filled the cots around me. Still. Silent.
The air was stale, the walls cracked and yellowed at the edges.
It felt like limbo.
A waiting room between worlds.
Like I wasn’t alive. But not dead either. Just... stuck.
I shifted under the thin blanket and winced.
Everything hurt.
A woman passed by in a white apron over a light blue dress, her arms full of folded sheets. Her hair was tucked into a white cap, not a strand out of place as she moved with careful precision.
At the cot beside mine, she peeled back the sheets. Dark stains had sunk deep into the fabric. She stripped the bedding without flinching, replaced it with clean sheets, and smoothed her hand across the fabric until it lay flat.
Then her eyes found mine.
“Good afternoon, miss,” she said, voice low and composed, every word carefully chosen.
I blinked up at her, my vision drifting in and out.
“There now,” she soothed. “No need to fret. You’re at Tallenbacken Infirmary.”
She paused, adjusting the folded linens in her arms before continuing.
“My name is Ingela. I’m one of the nurses here.”
Tallenbacken.
The name sat strangely on my tongue. I didn’t remember going there. I didn’t remember anything.
“The doctor will be along shortly to have a word with you,” she went on, but her voice was already growing distant. The panic had begun to rise in my throat — sharp, tight, relentless.
She stepped closer, brushing the back of her hand across my forehead, cool, practiced, almost motherly.
“The fever’s broken,” she said. “You gave us quite a scare. How are you feeling now?”
I didn’t know what to say. My throat ached. It felt like I’d swallowed sand. I forced myself to speak.
“Am I… am I dead?”
Her smile wavered, just briefly, before she forced it back into place.
“No, miss.” Her voice was careful, practiced. “You are very much alive. You survived.”
Survived.
What did I survive? Why was I in an infirmary? The word sat wrong inside me. It felt wrong.
“Survived what?” My voice cracked.
She didn’t answer. Just repeated, “The doctor will be by shortly.”
A moment later, the door burst open. A voice I thought I’d never hear again filled the room.
“Kera!”
At first, I didn’t believe it was him.
The world had taken everything from me. Why would it let me keep him? I’d stopped hoping. Stopped imagining what it would feel like to see him again.
But there he was.
Alive. Unharmed.
Will.
He looked different. Dressed like he wanted to disappear into the shadows. Cloaked in black, layered in thick wool and leather straps, soaked to the bone like the rain hadn’t let up in days.
For a second, I thought I was hallucinating.
But it was him.
Gods. It was really him.
He rushed toward me, and my mind couldn’t keep up.
“How are you—?” The words tumbled out before I could catch them.
“I’m here.” He dropped to his knees at my side.
“I came back. I found you… brought you here. I thought—”
His voice broke, and he swallowed hard. “I should have stayed. I should have protected you.”
He caught my hand in both of his, holding it carefully, like I might break.
“Do you remember what happened?”
And just like that, the memories surged back.
The fire. The screaming. Arche’s face. His voice. His laugh. My parents.
I yanked my hand from Will’s just as a man stepped into the room. Calm. Steady. A long white coat hanging off his frame.
“Good day, miss,” he greeted. “I’m Dr. Marren. How are you feeling?”
“Better.” The lie scraped out of me.
Ingela moved quietly to stand beside him, her hands folded neatly at her waist.
“We must tend to your wounds,” she murmured. “If we do not, they could fester.”
I turned away as she reached for my arm, shame rising like bile in my throat. I caught Will’s eyes, just for a second, then dropped my gaze. I couldn’t stand the thought of him seeing me ruined. I remembered crawling out of my burning house. Tearing my skin open.
The last wrap came off. I forced myself to look.
Whole.
Smooth.
Untouched.
No cuts. No blisters. Not even a scar.
It didn’t make sense.
Healing should have taken months, maybe years. And even then, I’d never look like this. Not as if it had never happened at all.
“How long was I out?” The question slipped out on a gasp.
Dr. Marren leaned closer, his brow furrowed.
“Remarkable,” he breathed.
Ingela froze behind him, pale and rigid.
“I stitched her up myself,” she whispered. “She was torn apart.”
Will edged closer. His eyes searched me, like he didn’t recognize what he was seeing.
“Even the stitches are gone,” Ingela added, almost to herself.
Dr. Marren’s expression hardened. “This is unnatural.”
The word hit me like a blow.
I didn’t know how I was still alive. Didn’t know why the wounds were gone. Didn’t know what any of it meant. And the way they all stared told me they didn’t either. Worse—it told me they wouldn’t stop until they found out.
They wouldn’t let me walk out of there. They would never let me go. They would keep me trapped here forever, cutting into me, taking pieces of me.
You can’t tell anyone, they won’t understand.
Licia’s voice tore through me, clearer than any memory had a right to be. She had known. She had always known.
And now it was too late.
The doctor turned away, scribbling furiously on his clipboard, murmuring to Ingela.
“No infection. No inflammation. Full epithelial regeneration,” he muttered. "Case must be reported immediately. We may be facing an unprecedented anomaly.”
Ingela nodded, her face pale.
“We must inform the regional board," she said. "She should not be moved until further evaluation.”
I wasn’t even a girl to them anymore. I was a phenomenon. An opportunity. A thing to be studied.
My eyes found Will’s with a silent plea.
“What do you want to do?" he asked, keeping his voice low, just for me.
The answer was already burning in my chest.
“Get me out of here.” I whispered.
I threw the blanket off and swung my legs over the edge of the cot. The second they hit the floor, pain jolted through them, sharp, like needles driving into numb flesh. They buckled under my weight.
“Miss, you must remain abed,” the nurse snapped.
The doctor strode forward, his coat flaring behind him.
“Lie down. Now,” he ordered, eyes locked on mine.
“Kera—” Will’s voice cut through the rising panic.
The doctor lunged.
“Get back here!” he barked. His fingers skimmed my shoulder as I lurched back, hip slamming into a metal cart.
I shoved the cart hard. It crashed into the doctor with a metallic screech, sending bottles and instruments skidding across the floor.
“Seize her!” he roared. “Seize them both!”
The nurse shrieked. “She must not get away!”
“Run!” Will grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the door.
I stumbled after him, legs barely working, feet slapping awkwardly against the stone. Every step felt like walking on broken pins—numb, useless, burning. I couldn’t keep up, not really. But I didn’t stop.
Light flickered across the walls. Everything smelled like blood and chemicals and rot.
Will dragged me left, down a narrower hall.
“This way!”
Shouts chased us. “Stop them!”
A group of nurses spilled into the hallway ahead, skirts swishing, faces pale beneath their white caps. We barreled through them.
I clipped one with my shoulder, she gasped and stumbled back.
The main doors loomed ahead, tall and shadowed. A man stood in front of them, built like a wall. His hand dropped to the truncheon at his hip.
“Back to your room!” he bellowed. “You’ve no leave!”
Behind us, the doctor’s voice cracked through the noise.
“Bar the way! Do not let her leave!”