[Milk & Honey/Alt Version - Billie Marten🎶]
The tears of a wounded bluebird will drown you the moment you witness them. For the punishment for harming such a creature has always been severe in the eyes of Heaven. Did you think you could break a wing and simply walk away? You were wrong.
*
"Why isn't it working?"
Pars turned to the others, demanding an answer. His patience was snapping.
Cassian rolled his eyes, muttering a curse. "Dickhead. Maybe it's because you're screaming at her?"
Pars whipped his head back to me, eyebrows raised in accusation. I flinched, shrinking away.
"No! It's not because you shouted!" I stammered, my body trembling uncontrollably.
"Then why?"
"It hurts," I whispered.
Pars stared at my lips for a second, reading the pain there. Then, he stepped back, his gaze shifting to Cassian.
"Cassian, fix her. And move it, we've wasted enough time."
Without another glance at me, Pars turned and walked toward the tunnel entrance. Cassian was already dropping to his knees beside me.
He smiled warmly, a stark contrast to the monster who had just walked away. His face was unnervingly young, innocent.
"Look into my eyes, Reverie," he said softly. "Don't worry. I won't hurt you."
I wanted to answer, I wanted to believe him, but the agony lodged in my throat choked the words before they could rise.
Cassian placed a large, warm hand over my stomach. His gray eyes began to glow.
My eyes widened. I felt it—the bullet inside me moving. It was sliding backward, fighting against the flesh that had swallowed it. A guttural scream ripped from my throat, shaking the tunnel walls.
I hated physical pain. I thought I had grown numb to it years ago. I was wrong. I was always wrong.
I wanted to push Cassian away, to stop the unnatural sensation of the metal being extracted by sheer force of will, but I was paralyzed. All I could do was scream and arch my back as the bullet tore its way out.
Then, suddenly, it stopped. The pain vanished, replaced by a heavy, dull numbness.
The glow in Cassian's eyes faded. He pulled his hand away—bloody, wet, and holding the small piece of lead. He stood up, wiping his hand on his pants, and offered it to me with a smile.
I looked down at my stomach. The wound was gone. The skin was knit together as if nothing had ever happened.
I glanced at Kit and Leander. Their expressions were blank, bored even. They were used to this violence. Then I looked back at Cassian's hand. I blinked, confused. Why was he being so kind when the others were so cold?
Hesitantly, I took the hand of the man who had saved me. He gripped mine tight—his palm sticky with my own blood—and pulled me to my feet in one fluid motion. I felt physically light, but the tremor in my heart remained.
Memories of the past clung to my legs like abandoned children, dragging me down. I tried to breathe, to keep my face neutral, but my mask was cracking.
"What is it?" Cassian asked, his voice laced with concern.
"Nothing," I lied, forcing a smile. "Let's go."
"Let's go," he repeated, though his eyes lingered on my face, searching for the truth.
Even your heart of stone would weep if I told you about my past, I thought. If you saw the unhealed wounds beneath this skin.
We walked out of the tunnel. Pars was waiting at the entrance, smoking, looking away. I didn't care.
It hurts. It burns.
Nobody heard my internal screams.
I knew no one in Zehera could be this cruel, or so I told myself. I lied to survive. I was programmed to believe the lie because the truth was unbearable.
Maybe everything will be better in the morning.
It won't.
The sun never rises in Zehera. And even if it did, it wouldn't matter. My heart is broken beyond repair. Stitching a wound is easy; fixing a soul is impossible.
Silence has always been my loudest cry. I learned to be silent. Even when I was screaming inside, I was a statue on the outside.
I remembered the smell of burning skin. I remembered how my stepfamily used me for their twisted amusements.
"When will this end?" I had wept once.
They had laughed as they put out their cigarettes on my skin. "When the sun rises."
The sun never rose. Instead, the pain grew. It multiplied. My childhood was thrown into a garbage dump, trampled, and crushed. I was left naked, shivering in the cold of an eternal night. With the desire for freedom rising in my heart, I became an orphan.
I didn't know if I was dead or alive. It didn't matter. I hated this city. I hated the dark. I hated living.
My thoughts were a spiraling abyss. I snapped out of it only when my eyes met Pars's. We were heading back to the headquarters.
When we arrived, Pars disappeared immediately, lost in a dark mood. I wandered the building aimlessly until I found myself in the garden, walking among the dead trees.
I saw him sitting on a bench ahead. I approached slowly. He looked angry, his brow furrowed as he smoked aggressively.
I looked at his hand holding the cigarette. The knuckles were raw, the skin split and dried with blood.
"What happened to your hand?" I asked.
He turned his head, examining me from beneath his long lashes. He shrugged, taking another drag, and said nothing.
The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. I decided to give up. As I turned to head back to the house, I almost bumped into someone.
"Oh!"
It was Cassian. I hesitated, then called out. "Cassian?"
He stopped, his gray eyes crinkling with a smile. "Yeah, Reverie?"
He was an extremely kind man. Too kind for this place.
"Thank you," I said. I tried to smile sincerely, though I wasn't sure I remembered how.
He smiled back, patted my shoulder gently, and continued walking toward the bench where Pars sat.
I watched them for a second, then turned and headed to the house I shared with Pars. The outer door opened automatically as I approached. I stepped inside, and the door clicked shut behind me, sealing me in.
There was nothing else to do.