The lock turned with a sharp, heavy clack, sealing the washroom off from the corridor outside.
Valen set Libby down onto the small wooden bench near the door, keeping a firm, steady hand on her small shoulder so she wouldn't run. The little girl was trembling violently, her chest heaving in quiet, ragged gulps as she stared down at her hands. Red blood was drying sticky across her knuckles, flaking into brownish-red traces under her fingernails.
Behind them, Philia stumbled against the heavy stone washbasin, his left hand clamped flat against his chest.
Fresh blood squelched out between his pale fingers with every heavy, shuddering breath he took. His white shirt was entirely ruined, a wet bloom of crimson stretching from his collarbone down to his trousers, sticking the heavy cotton straight to his skin like a second layer of raw flesh.
"Water," Philia gasped out, his knees buckling so hard his thighs slammed against the lip of the stone basin. "Valen... get the water..."
