𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬. sam uley

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

If I would have killed him when I tried, she would have been here.

Edward winces at the vehemence in Sam's thoughts. Carlisle sighs as though it were expected, his eyes dark and anguished. In the house, chatter dies down. Sam hears Emmett tell Aro to please stop asking questions in the most strained voice, as though he were trying not to snap. He figures it's for Reneesme if no one else.

He glances at Edward, Carlisle. They're guilty, shoulders tight and heads bowed. Sam snarls and snarls until his body trembles because it's true. Sage would still be here if he would have killed Aro when he saw him emerge from the ash. If they would have let him—

"We know," Edward says quietly. "I'm sorry, Sam."

Sorry? Sam would have scoffed if he were human. The only one who needs to hear that is Sage. We failed her. And you're going to help me get her back.

"Well, of course," Carlisle starts when Edward relays the message, but his eyes are tight in the corners, "but we must consider the fact that this is not a vampire but a human. While all life is precious, we need to consider the damages it could have on you, Sam—"

How many humans has he killed? Sam stands tall, imposing in front of him. His eyes take in their actions, locking in on the stillness of Edward and the anxiousness radiating off Carlisle. He growls, and they step back. How many times has he broken Sage to put her back together again? How many times has he beaten her, starved her? How many times did you see him beat her, Carlisle?

Carlisle swallows when Edward recites the words in a steely voice. "I didn't see— try as I might, it was not my place to take Sage from her home."

Home? Sam roars at them, and it feels liberating but also like an attack on himself. The guilt eats him, chokes him like smoke inhalation. He was so wrong, had been for so long. You think she called that home?

Perhaps, at one time Aro was home. He was home and everything and important enough for her to sacrifice all she knew for him. The only person who knows how to break her better than her brother does.

But he thinks of Antonio, of the people she killed without wishing to. He thinks of her trembling frame, her little tells that demonstrated her humanity. It was in her shadows, in her flames. The shadows dances when she was nervous or angry, tendrils of snakes biting at anyone they could sink their teeth into. When Elis would upset her, her flames flickered over her skin, her eyes flitting around the room like she was looking for an escape. If he talked about the Volturi (which he knows he didn't do enough), she would tense, shadows already inking through the air. She never spoke much, once she answered his questions, but the silence spoke for itself because it was solemn, dark. Her shadows personified that.

If Carlisle thinks Sage called that home when she shouted for anyone to help her when she was captured, then he's either as evil as Aro is or naive in his belief of the good in creatures.

The fact that Sam had thought she called it home sickens him. When she gets back, he has so much to make up for. So much to do.

So much to say.

"Once again," Carlisle interjects softly, hands placating in front of him, "it was a mistake on our part. We are very apologetic."

Apologies don't do much. Sam wants revenge. Wants Aro gone. Sage needs to return and they can spare a human life.

"Do not make yourself a killer, Sam," Carlisle says.

"Why not?" a new voice calls from the steps. It's entrancing, seductive, but very human. "I did, and it certainly helped me."