I found myself sitting on a bed, wearing a pair of clean sweats and a soft black shirt. I wasn't sure whose clothing it was or whose cabin we'd been assigned for the night. Then again, I wasn't sure of anything except the pressure behind my eyes and sinuses—a constant reminder of my breakdown, and an omen of an impending reoccurrence.

Will knelt on the floor across from me, wrapping my swollen ankle. We both knew I'd heal soon enough with the spirit in my bones, so I wasn't sure why he bothered.

Still. I found comfort in his silence.

He didn't look at me like I was a second away from shattering. He didn't breathe with caution. He only worked meticulously, silently, gently. The way you handle something that's already broken.

He finished the bandage, and he stood, looking me over. There was something different in his expression—in the way his jaw tightened.

Sadness? Sympathy?

It was a gamble; he wore so few emotions on his face I didn't have enough practice discriminating one from the other. There was definitely something there, though.

Something new.

He reached out, and his thumb caressed the space just below my eyelashes, wiping away another tear. There was a weight of understanding there—as if he really had gone through everything I had. Everything I had and worse.

I lay on my side, staring at the cabin walls and sniffling periodically. I also made sure to pet Richard every time he gifted me a concerned lick.

I felt paralyzed. Emotionally. Physically. I didn't want to move or think or be. I just wanted a book to curl up with, a fictional universe to replace the real world. The world in which my parents were dead and my brother and his friends were all gone.

Will emerged from the back room, tying back the layers of his hair in a loose knot, his bangs just short enough to slip free. He'd changed as well, replacing navy and black with, predictably, more navy and black. As he drifted out of sight, I heard him open the door to leave.

"Wait," I blurted, panicking.

The floor creaked.

I felt selfish, small. He'd already stayed with me for ages—I couldn't deny him his reunion with the other refugees.

But part of me yearned for human contact, for comfort, for a friend.

I swallowed. "Could you...?"

I couldn't get the word out. It was stuck to my prideful tongue, and the plea died with Will's patience.

The door shut with a click.

And of course it did. This was Will, Mr. Unemotional. Mr. Robot. He wasn't Fudge. He wasn't Tom or Rover or Sol. I couldn't expect him to take on a mourning mess of a girl when he had his own problems to sort out.

But a moment later, the bed squeaked, and something warm landed beside me.

Holding in a relieved smile, I rolled over to face him.

"Yeah," he said. He slid his hands under his head and glared at the ceiling. "I can."

It was almost daybreak, and the gray sky tainted the world an eerie silver. I wished Fudge or Rover were here to fill the silence—I'd even settle for Mason. Instead, I was left with the company of my own imagination, and my brain doodled all the potentially malignant creatures lurking within the pale shadows of the swamp.

I hated it.

There was something indescribably creepy about a swamp before sunrise. There were things that stirred in the depths that shouldn't be stirring, things that I couldn't see, but I could sense.

I was about to turn back when I heard it.

"Alex."

My whole body flooded with ice water, and I willed myself to turn around, knowing very well that the whisper hadn't belonged to rustling leaves or nature's bed-breath.

A soldier stood in the middle of the swamp, dripping wet, as if he'd just risen from the pool like the human Excalibur. Of course, I would have steered clear of the disturbed man if I hadn't recognized his badge and battle scars.

"Tom?"

Abandoning my reservations, I raced into the water, sloshing loudly to meet him in thigh-deep water. Why was he here? Where had he come from?

My brother stood still, staring down at the ripples between us, pensive, and for a moment, I just watched him, stricken and afraid.

Tom was possessed. I'd seen it happen.  And yet, despite the obvious trap he'd set for me, something kept me there, entranced.

The man looked like he was weeping, his shoulders hunched and shaking. He had this childish aura about him—young and vulnerable and frightened.

Did I dare approach him? Did I make a break for it?

"...Tom?" I tried again.

He looked up at me with eyes of white opal, and the wide, unnatural grin on his face snapped me out of my stupor.

No. This wasn't Tom.

This was a demon with Tom's face, and it was very apparent now that he hadn't been crying. He'd been laughing.

As I turned to flee, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, halting me in place.  I sent him a terrified look over my shoulder, and he let out a long, high-pitched, hysterical laugh.

I squirmed against his icy grip, trying to escape, but as slippery as his hand was, it was also incredibly strong and unyielding.

"Let me go," I rasped.

"Let you go? After what you've done?" His voice dripped off his tongue like poison. "You refused to kill them. So they killed us."

He released me then, and with a startled yelp, I fell into the warm, muddy bath below me.  And as I sank beneath the water, I came to the horrible conclusion that I was not alone in this swamp. There were objects all around me, floating limply in the water, brushing up against me. Bleached and oversaturated.

Bodies, I realized, my gut collapsing in on itself. Dead bodies with pale faces and bloated limbs, stark against the green hues of the water. Soldiers and civilians, men and women. Even children.

I'd fallen into a mass grave.

Aghast, I sprang out of the water and tried to run, but I couldn't move; my leg was caught in a tangle of reeds. I tugged on my ankle, groaning in frustration, desperate to get away, but there was no use.

When I glanced down, I realized why.

A bony hand grasped my shin.  A hand that connected to the body of Mr. Wick—a corpse of peeling skin, stringy hair, and angry white eyes.

These bodies were alive.

Mangled Ellsians swarmed me, rising up out of the water, their decomposing flesh shining with blubbery consistency. I tried to wrench away, but Wick still had a vice grip on my leg. Wet hands clawed at my armor and pulled at my waist, and the demons' flesh stuck to my clothing, peeling away like glue or rotten cheese.

"It's your fault," one croaked. It had the face of Jaden, but not any of the traits that made her human. "It's always your fault."

I gasped stupidly. Out of air. Out of words.

"Alex....Alex...."

They began chanting my name, over and over again. Like a war cry. Like a hex.

Tom stepped forward. "You killed them, Al. Mom and Dad. Beau. All those Pans in the mine. You even let them kill your own brother." Another step. "If you hadn't let your emotions get the best of you, you would have ended that old man's life, and this never would have happened."

In my struggle to escape, I punched a corpse in the head, and my hand sailed through its rotting skull into its brain. I staggered, thrashing to get it off, desperate to remove my hand from its slushy contents.

My brother reached out to balance me, gripping tight to my arm and holding me steady. I stared at him in confusion and fear and tentative hope.

"One day, Al, you'll get what's coming to you," he said. And with a hateful grin, he let go of my wrist.

I jerked my arms inwards as I hit the water, trying to shield myself from the flurry of bodies. But they were too strong for me, and they pulled me down, down, down.

Bubbles escaped through my open mouth as I screamed, choking on murk and swamp life.  Hands prodded at my arms. Fingernails scraped my skin. Teeth sank deep into flesh. My lungs burned, contracted—acid fire—and gritz how could they burn in water of all things?

From the depths, a long, black snake appeared, like a trail of ink in a vat of cooking oil. Evading my weightless kicks, it slithered into my open, screaming mouth, and I was gagging, choking. I...I was dying!

"Alex!"

The nightmare evaporated.

Will hovered above me, pinning me to the bed. He was breathing hard, gripping my wrists tightly above my head, like I had tried to claw at him or strangle him or—

Oh.

I panted, glancing frantically about the room as I tried to orient myself. Walls with planks of pinewood. A window with shutters. A closet across from the bed. A small sink in the back.

That's right.

I remember now.

A single candle painted the cabin a shade of marmalade, and Richard's front paws rested on the mattress beside me as he sniffed my face.

"It was a nightmare, Alex. Breathe."

I did, but my whole body shuddered on the exhale, and my eyes snapped close, trying to scrape away the stain of my dream.

Gritz, I was going to be sick.

I was going to retch. Choke on my own vomit and never be able to look Will in the eye again—

"Breathe."

I looked up at him again, latching onto the crescent light in his eyes—a lantern in the forest. Holding his gaze, I felt my chest rise and fall in time with his, adopting its rhythm, matching its tempo. Rough at first, then smooth.

The nausea died.

And so did the fear.

I nodded at him, swallowing thickly. I'm okay.

Will collapsed next to me as I sat up and wiped away the tears and sweat along my hairline. He was still here, long after I'd fallen asleep, keeping me safe from my own mind. I owed him big time for this, especially after sleep-jumping him.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. My breath hitched. "I'm sorry..."

I felt it build up within me—the horrible thoughts and feelings I'd repressed for days, for weeks, for years. I wasn't strong enough to hold it in anymore, and I knew Will didn't want to hear it, but I couldn't stop it from spilling over my lips.

"I just feel so...guilty, Will," I gasped, my chest tight enough to rupture. "My mom...she died both times because of me. I killed her. I killed my father's soulmate."

"That's—"

"The last real conversation I even had with my dad, I broke his heart. His only kid, the last member of his entire family told him she wanted to join the military, abandon him and his ranch—the land he loved and tended to all his life. Patrons, I was basically signing a death wish, and then telling him I didn't care, even after he'd lost his only son." I bit my lip to keep the sob in. "Then I publicly humiliated him and ruined my future—the one thing he worked so hard to secure. And Tom...Tom was only turned because I screwed up. I just wanted to fight, but now I'm finally here, and I can't do anything. I wanted to help, and I needed saving, again—"

"Alex," Will interrupted, angling his head at me from the pillow. "You've been through a lot today, and your emotions are heightened. We can talk it through tomorrow, but right now, you need to rest."

Rest?

"I just did! And my brain tried to kill me."

His mouth twitched. "Try again."

"But I'm scared."

"Who isn't?"

I blinked at him, surprised by the admission.

But he was right; I could see it in the eyes of my peers. We were all scared. All broken. All chipped and cracked and bruising.

Even Will.

"Look," he said, less brusque this time. "We all make mistakes. We all fail sometimes. And we all lose people we love." His brow lifted. "Heroes are no exception."

It took me a moment to understand what he was saying.

"Hero," I repeated, voice wobbly. "Me."

He blew a puff of air between his lips. "Alex, you risked your life to help a bunch of idiots win their right to serve. You ran into a bomb-rigged mine to save trained soldiers. And you rescued your peers when they were taken by demons you couldn't even kill." He tucked his elbow beneath his head. "You can't reflect on your past and just ignore all the good you've done. That's not fair."

I stared at him, astonished by his sentiment.

That was Will, right?

An old, impish part of me considered poking him in the ribs just to prove he wasn't some hallucination. To prove he wasn't another figment of my cruel imagination.

"Nightmares will find you, conscious or not. But only one option leaves you better off come morning," he whispered, passing me a feeble grin. "That's what my mother used to say."

His mother was probably right. I needed to sleep if I wanted to be useful tomorrow.

My eyes ached from crying, and I felt like I'd been dragged behind a wagon all day. Exhausted, I fell back against a bed of thorns, landing right next to the Rhean prince. Elbows overlapping, and side brushing side.

The proximity was too close. I knew that. But it was warm there. It was safe there.

I turned my head slightly, eyeing his shoulder, his chin, and finally, his eyes. His expression was wary, reflecting my own uncertainty, but he also looked annoyed. Peeved, in a tender way. And maybe just a little curious.

With a bravery I didn't know I possessed, I rolled on my side and rested my head against his chest. My hand trembled as I placed my palm over his heart, fisting the fabric of his shirt like an anchor.

It was the first time I'd deliberately touched him since the bonfire, when I'd knocked him flat and almost sucked out his soul. And it didn't help that just hours earlier, I'd lost total control of my curse and rendered an entire army unconscious. Now I was here, nestling into his side and holding onto him for dear life.

I wondered if he was as afraid of me as I was.

His muscles tensed under me, and any second I expected an alarm to go off. For him to Judo-flip me off the bed or punch out my trachea.

But he didn't shove me off. He didn't shy away. Instead, it was like pulling a taut string that immediately released all the tension in his body.

With a quiet sigh, he extracted the arm pinned between us so he could wrap it around my upper back, gently clasping my shoulder. His other hand curled around my wrist, keeping me close to him, like a shield.

We didn't look at each other—it was too mortifying. We simply savored each other's company.

In a world like this, it was all we could do.