Chapter 16 – Azaria
AZARIA
Iwoke without the weight pressing on my chest. Progress.
I sat up, catalogued the familiar ache in my head—dull, manageable. Hands steady when I lifted them. The light didn’t stab anymore, pressing gently against my eyelids before I opened them.
The recovery room looked the same. Pale stone. Soft runes. Runestone humming low beneath my pillow. But I felt different. Less numb, less distant.
The rage that had simmered underneath for days had gone quiet. Not fading, but settling. Sinking deeper, past the place where it made my hands shake, into somewhere more permanent.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood slowly.
The floor was cold. Real. Solid. I took three steps.
Then five. Across the room to the small table, back to the bed.
No dizziness. No disorientation. The frustration was still there, though—a low burn at how weak my legs felt, how much effort it took to cross eight paces without my muscles trembling.
I’d fought abyssal soldiers. Survived the Black Cell. Stairs shouldn’t be this hard.
The door opened. Myrin stepped inside, carrying her usual tray. She glanced at me standing by the bed and raised an eyebrow. “Testing your limits already?”
“Apparently my limits are eight paces and moderate annoyance,” I said flatly.
Her mouth twitched. “Better than yesterday’s six paces and complete exhaustion.”
“Thrilling progress.”
She set the tray down and gestured for me to sit. I did, grudgingly. She ran her scan—hand hovering over my chest, temples, wrists. Magic hummed warm and controlled. I’d stopped flinching at it days ago. Small mercy.
“Pulse steady. Sensory response normalized. Cognitive function sharp.” She straightened, studying me. “You’re recovering faster than most.”
“I’m motivated.”
“So I’ve noticed.” She passed me the enchanted tonic. I drank it without arguing. Cool, faintly sweet, familiar now.
“How’s the zoning?” she asked.
I considered lying. Decided against it. “Still happens. Less often, though. I catch myself faster.”
She nodded, unsurprised. “That’ll fade with time. Your mind’s still recalibrating.”
“Wonderful.”
“Since you’re ready to wage war with a couple of steps,” Myrin said, voice dry, “I assume you’re ready to meet your squad?”
I looked up. Her expression was neutral, but her gaze was cool and exacting.
“Small group,” she continued. “Tomorrow. Controlled visit. Only four people. Thirty minutes maximum.”
My throat tightened. I wanted to see them. Needed to even. To prove to myself I could sit across from them and hold a conversation without fracturing. But the thought of their eyes on me, reading every crack, measuring what was left?—
I forced myself to nod. “All right.”
“Good.” Myrin turned to adjust the runes above my head. “Elaria asked to visit again this afternoon. I told her fifteen minutes. Your mother wants to come tomorrow morning before the squad.”
Something warm loosened behind my ribs.
“That’s fine.”
“Your father?—”
“Is buried in work,” I finished quietly. “As usual.”
Myrin paused and glanced at me. Said nothing. I appreciated that. She moved back to the tray, organizing vials with practised efficiency.
“Quinton’s asked to visit,” she said, voice carefully neutral. “Alone. Multiple times, actually.”
Ice slid down my spine.
Quinton.
His name. His face. The rooftop. The way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered. And then—nothing. Blank. Twisting a silver band in the dark. I forced my hands to stay still in my lap. “I can’t see him alone,” I said quietly. “Not yet.”
Myrin raised an eyebrow and studied me for a long moment. I waited for the question. The probing. The careful healer voice asking why. She nodded once. “Understood. I’ll let him know you’re not ready for private visits yet.”
I swallowed. “Thank you.”
She turned back to the tray, mouth twitching slightly. “You know he’s going to ask why.”
“Then tell him I said so.”
“I’m a healer, not a messenger service.”
“You’re the one keeping him out. That makes it your problem.”
“How efficient of you.”
I almost smiled. Myrin finished organizing the tray, then moved toward the door. She paused at the threshold. “Tomorrow morning. Your mother. Then the squad at midday. Four people maximum. If it’s too much, you stop. Understood?”
“Understood.”
She studied me for one more moment, then left. The door shut behind her. I sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in my lap.
Tomorrow. The squad.
Reyna’s fire. Kael’s keen eyes. Whoever else Dain decided could handle seeing me like this.
I could do this.
Probably.
The rage stirred beneath my ribs. Quiet. Patient. Deeper than before. I let it settle.
Elaria came that afternoon. Fifteen minutes of my sister’s particular brand of warmth—fierce, protective, refusing to treat me like I was fragile even when we both knew I was. She’d brought a small tin of the honey cakes I’d loved since childhood and set them on the table without ceremony.
“Mama’s coming tomorrow,” she said. “She wanted me to warn you she’s going to fuss.”
“Mama doesn’t fuss.”
“Mama absolutely fusses. She’s been fussing at Father for three days straight.”
I’d eaten two of the honey cakes and let my sister’s voice fill the silence, and by the time Myrin ushered her out, the room felt less like a recovery ward and more like somewhere a person might actually live.
The time marker bracelet pulsed against my wrist. Midday approaching.
I sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in my lap, steadying my breathing.
Mama had visited today. She’d arrived quietly, the way she always did—no fuss, despite what Elaria had promised.
No questions. She’d set a bundle of clean clothes on the chair without comment, then sat beside me on the bed.
“Your hair,” she whispered, reaching for the tangled mess of it.
I didn’t flinch. Not from her. I’d flinched from Myrin, from Dain, from Tallis—but not from Mama. Whatever the Black Cell had done to my nervous system, it hadn’t touched this. Her hands were the only thing my body still recognized as safe.
She brushed my hair with slow, careful strokes. Working through the tangles with patience that made my throat ache. I sat still and let her, eyes closed, grounding myself in the rhythm of it. The pull and release. The warmth of her fingers against my scalp. Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to.
When the tangles smoothed, she set the brush aside and pressed a kiss to my forehead. Held there for a moment. “I love you, my girl,” she whispered. “You’re stronger than you know.”
I believed her. I had to. Mama didn’t say things she didn’t mean.
Myrin appeared at the door, gentle but firm. Time. Mama squeezed my hand once, then left without looking back. That was how I knew she was trying not to cry.
I sat alone for a while after she left, the warmth of her still lingering.
Mama was my strength in the dark. Always had been.
When Father buried himself in work, when the world felt too heavy, when I couldn’t find solid ground—she was there, steady and unwavering.
Loving me even when I couldn’t love myself.
That visit had anchored me. Reminded me I was still here. Still whole enough to try.
I straightened my spine and rolled my shoulders. The clean clothes fit loosely—I’d lost weight in the Black Cell—but they were mine. Familiar. Real.
The door opened. Myrin stepped inside, carrying nothing this time. “Ready?” she asked.
“No,” I said honestly. “But I’ll manage.”
Her mouth twitched. “That’s the spirit.”
She moved to adjust the runes one last time, dimming them slightly, softening the light. “Thirty minutes maximum,” she said. “Four people. Dain, Thorne, Kael, Reyna. If it’s too much, you stop. I’ll be outside.”
I nodded once.
“And Azaria?” She paused and met my eyes. “You don’t have to perform for them. They’re here because they care. Not because they expect you to be who you were two weeks ago.”
Something pulled tight in my chest. I wanted to argue. Wanted to say I was still that person. “Noted,” I said instead, which wasn’t agreement, and we both knew it.
Myrin studied me for one more moment, then left.
I sat alone in the quiet, counting breaths. Mama’s warmth still lingered. Steadying. Real. Footsteps approached in the hallway. Multiple sets. Measured. Careful. I lifted my chin. Straightened my spine.
The door opened.
Dain entered first. He looked better than last time—less exhausted, more present. His eyes swept over me, quick and assessing, and something in his expression eased when he saw I was sitting upright, dressed, hair brushed. Progress. Even he could see it.
Thorne followed, silent and solid. He stopped inside the door, hands loose at his sides, eyes steady on mine. No pity. Presence.
Kael came next. Sharp-eyed, observant. He nodded once—brief, respectful—and moved to stand beside Thorne.
Reyna was last. She stepped inside, took one look at me, and her expression shifted. Not pity, not careful softness. Fire.
“You look like shit,” she said bluntly.
The room went still. Dain’s jaw tightened. Kael’s eyes flicked to her. Thorne didn’t move. Something cracked in my chest. Not pain. Relief.
“You should see me without the hair brushing,” I said.
Reyna’s mouth curved. “There she is.”
Dain cleared his throat. “Maybe sit down before someone says something else wildly inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate is the only reason I let her in,” I said.
Reyna grinned. The tension in the room loosened a fraction.
They settled—Dain and Kael taking the chairs near the small table, Reyna perching on the edge of the second bed, Thorne remaining standing by the door. Silence stretched. I could feel them watching me. Taking inventory. Searching for cracks. I forced my hands to stay still in my lap.
“So,” I said quietly. “Update.”
Dain leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “The council’s keeping its distance. Hallen and Vareck haven’t shown their faces since the vote. Miren’s been seen at court functions, but she won’t meet anyone’s eyes.”
“Good,” I said.
“Tywin’s filed formal complaints,” Kael added. “Protocol violations, illegal detention, sensory deprivation without oversight. It’s all on record now.”
I nodded slowly, processing. “The squad?” I asked.
“Intact,” Dain said. “Everyone’s accounted for. We’ve maintained patrol rotations and kept things running. Zephyr’s been insufferable. Lirael’s holding the intelligence network together. Elias and Lyra are fine.”
He paused. I waited. “Quinton—” Dain started.
“Is not here,” I finished quietly.
Silence.
Reyna leaned forward. “He wanted to come. Dain told him no.”
I looked at Dain. He met my gaze steadily. “You said you couldn’t see him alone. I figured a group visit wasn’t much better. Not yet.”
He was right. Having Quinton in this room, watching me with those eyes, while I sat here with shaking hands and a mind that still zoned out without warning—I wasn’t ready for what that would cost me.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
Dain nodded once. Thorne shifted slightly near the door. First movement since he’d entered.
I looked at him. “You’re quiet.”
His mouth twitched. Barely. “You’re talking enough for both of us.”
Kael’s lips curved slightly.
Reyna snorted. “She’s said maybe ten words.”
“Exactly,” Thorne said.
Something close to a smile tugged at my mouth. I let it, briefly, before it faded.
The conversation shifted—slow, careful at first, then gradually loosening.
They told me about the city. The rumors spreading about my detention.
Public opinion turning against the council.
I listened, filed it away. Asked questions when I could.
Zoned out once—caught myself mid-sentence, lost the thread, and had to ask Kael to repeat what he’d said.
The irritation that followed was cutting.
Kael repeated himself without hesitation.
No pause, no pity, no careful look. I appreciated that more than he knew.
Reyna kept the energy moving, filling silences with blunt observations that cut through the careful politeness everyone else was maintaining.
At one point she described Zephyr’s reaction to being left behind—“He called Dain three words I won’t repeat and then sulked for an hour”—and I felt the laugh before I could stop it.
It was short. Rough. More breath than sound. But it was real. Dain’s eyes softened when he heard it. He looked away before I could read too much into it.
Thorne stood there the entire time, steady and unmovable.
He said maybe five words total, and every one of them landed exactly where it needed to.
And somehow, that was exactly what I needed.
Not comfort or reassurance. The squad being the squad.
Treating me like their captain who’d had a bad week, not a broken thing to handle gently.
The time marker pulsed. Thirty minutes.
Dain stood immediately. “Time.”
The others followed his lead—Reyna with a reluctant sigh, Kael with a respectful nod, Thorne with his usual silence.
“We’ll come back,” Reyna said. “When Myrin allows it.”
“Try not to burn anything down before then.”
She grinned. “No promises.”
Dain paused at the door. Looked at me. I could see the question he wanted to ask. I shook my head once, small. Don’t. I’m fine.
He nodded. Then they filed out quietly.
I sat alone, exhaustion settling heavy in my bones.
Thirty minutes. Four people. Simple conversation.
And I’d survived it. More than survived.
I’d asked questions. Traded barbs with Reyna.
Laughed once, even if it sounded like it came from someone who’d forgotten how.
But gods, I was tired. Thirty minutes and I was wrung out, and the frustration at that was already coiling tight behind my sternum.
I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes.
Quinton’s absence sat heavily in the room.
Not mentioned after that first exchange, but present anyway.
A shape in the corner of every silence. I wondered what Dain had told him.
Wondered if he’d argued, if he was angry.
Wondered if I’d ever be ready to see him, or if I’d keep finding reasons not to. Not yet. But maybe soon.
The rage that had been settling all day stirred faintly. It wasn’t clawing or spiking. It was deeper than that now—banked low and hot in the spaces behind my ribs.
It would surface again. I knew that. When I was strong enough to do something with it, when the shaking stopped and the zoning faded and I could walk more than eight paces without my legs betraying me—it would come roaring back. I was counting on it.
Underneath the exhaustion, underneath the frustration and the quiet ache of missing people I wasn’t ready to face—Mama’s warmth lingered. Her kiss on my forehead. Her voice.
You’re stronger than you know.
I let my eyes close. Functional and brittle, but getting stronger. That would have to be enough.
For now.