𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗦𝗘 𝗦𝗛𝗔𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦 || 𝖭𝗂𝗄𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗂 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌𝗈𝗏

𝘹𝘷𝘪 - 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦

The entire front of her kefta was painted red. As the blood seeped into the blue fabric, it turned a deep purple. A hysterical laugh bubbled in her throat. The ground beneath her shifted from marble to rotting wood. She was in Mosava, then in the ballroom, then back again. She looked at Luca again. Had she looked like that when Harshaw laid her on the floor of that old hut and pulled the bullet free from her body? Had she looked worse or better?

"It's not mine," she breathed as the realisation came barrelling in. She wasn't the one bleeding. Because her wound was long healed, only a scar left in its place, a memory of Harshaw's awful stitching. Luca was the one who was shot now. Not on the battlefield like she was, but by a man in a ballroom dressed in noblemen's clothes.

"Freya, your arm." Zoya gripped her elbow carefully and tugged her arm into her view. Oh, Freya thought, at least it's not bad. There had been two gunshots, she recalled. She hadn't even thought of the second one. The sleeve of her kefta was torn where the bullet skimmed her.

Skimmed, she told herself, because that was all it truly was. It didn't even hurt, though she knew that was because of the panic. The threads around the hole of her kefta were singed and blackened by the bullet, and a trickle of blood seeped through, so unlike the river gushing from Luca.

Someone shouted orders to the guards, their booming voice louder than Katya's sobs. It took a while for Freya to realise it was Nikolai. With his princely facade gone, the soldier took its place.

"I'm fine, Zoy-" A gut-wrenching cry cut through the air like a knife. Freya jumped at the sound, then looked at where it came from. Her heart stopped in her chest.

Katya was wailing now, her hand gripping her chest as if her very heart was tearing itself out inside. Opposite her, Kirigan was yelling at the Healer, his face strained, a far cry from the usual calm and collected demeanour he usually sported.

"Do something!" The Healer flinched. Her hands weren't on Luca's wound anymore, lifted in front of her as the blood dripped down in rivulets. She looked lost and perhaps a little afraid.

"I'm sorry, General," she exhaled the words like they were the most difficult things she'd ever said. "I cannot do anything now." Kirigan's face twisted in anguish, and his hands visibly shook.

Tears pooled in Freya's eyes before she could stop them, and they ran down her face in torrents. Luca wasn't talking anymore. His face was blank as he stared at the ceiling, his grey eyes empty of everything. The grip on his father's arm was stiff and unmoving. And his chest... it did not rise and fall anymore.

The words went unspoken, but everyone in the room knew. Luca Kirigan was dead. Even as Kirigan ordered the Healer to get to work again, to at least try, everyone knew it was the end. There was no coming back after one's heart stopped. Those few who did were lucky, and Luca would not be one of them.

Deep red blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the pants and keftas of those kneeling around him. There was so much of it. How it was even possible for a human to have this much of it inside was unfathomable to Freya.

Her body was shaking, her breath erratic. Zoya gripped her so tightly it was painful, but she made little attempt to push her off. Somewhere in the distance, Freya could make out Vanya crying and David attempting to comfort her. The vicious cracks in her heart ripped further and turned to cavernous ravines.

Time seemed to stop, and all she could do was stare. Her mouth fell open to scream or cry, but no sound came out. Then everything came back, all too quickly, barrelling into her like a war hammer to the chest. Everything inside of her clenched as the understanding settled in to its fullest extent.