Green grounds. Dewy petals. The heavy, perfumed scent of the alchemy garden, almost embracing me in spring's arms. No, it wasn't the arms of spring – warmer still and firm around me, lips trailing past my ear, down my neck as I bit back my giggles of delight.

"Thesis presentation tomorrow, mm? Could be what sends you to apprentice for Julienne. Are you nervous?"

"No." I kept my voice low, trying not to sigh too loud at the graze of his fingertips or the tickle of grass. Just outside the hedges were footsteps, passing so close. Oh, if we were found out…

But he kissed me anyway, and it was hard to worry about anything here in this little hiding spot we'd made, so secret and perfect. Especially hard to worry when he kissed my neck like that. "I'll worry later, anyway. Not – mn – not right now..."

"Should focus on celebrating, hm? You'll impress them. You're creative. You certainly did me, with this torrid little idea…"

"Shhh! Not so loud!"

"Lay back down. I want to see if you can keep as quiet as you think…"

Any night before I'd have woken from a dream like that grinning, flushed and pleasantly dazed. Rolling over to nestle in closer to Bolor, drifting back off contented…

But not tonight.

I blinked away tears, catching my breath and hugging myself tight when I sat up in the dark. Just a dream. Except it wasn't, was it? It was so much more than a dream, or even a memory…

It was loss.

Make the best of it. I'd felt so warm, when maman gave me the papers to my home. So happy setting up shop, and helping the painter had practically made me glow. Trying, gods, trying to cling to that warmth and relief and gratitude, that things weren't as bad as they could have been. I had my life. I had my shop, a purpose. I had a chance.

But I'd lost so much, too. So much I could never get back. Bolor – even knowing what he'd done thinking of him hurt, made me remember not his crimes, but his kindness. His patience with my rambling ideas, his guidance when I struggled. His grin, amused and proud when I gained the courage not to be courted but to tease and flirt right back. The time Tar-Meena had helped me surprise him with wine and a picnic and left me to try and fail to seduce him with the lute, him snickering at being 'wooed like a Breton maiden…'

And Tar-Meena herself. Gods, we'd spend hours talking about books when we could, laughing over our differences in opinion. She stuck by me, celebrated my victories, mourned with me in failure and disappointment. She was always so supportive, and never failed to go to festivals with me when I begged, even though she hated crowds.

The university itself, my studies. My home and my purpose. All stolen from me so quickly, I'd hardly had time to grieve.

Okay. Breathe – get up. I forced myself out of bed, wincing as my toes hit cold wood. This is your life now. I was lucky not to be starting from nothing, imprisoned in the Sanctuary and trying to make a living. Lucky to be living at all. I just need a drink. A cold drink, and I'll sleep fine again, and I can…

I couldn't always delight in this. It hurt. It couldn't not hurt. But I had to at least try.

I tip-toed down the stairs, swallowing a yawn. It truly could be so much worse. Here I had a place to call my own, a life to live even if it was bound by the Brotherhood. I could help people, work on my studies in my own way. I'd already started a new notebook on water purification, another with scribbled ideas to try…

I bit back a bitter pang, wrestled the resentment down. This was it. There was no point fighting it. And at least – though it ached to think it – at least they made it look like I'd run. There'd be no one looking, and Tar-Meena…

She might hate me. But at least she wouldn't grieve me.

Maybe that was enough. I got my water and stumbled back to bed.

I hadn't been asleep half an hour when I was woken again. Not from my old life, but to my new reality.

"Get up."

I nearly screamed, nearly. Jolting out of my new bed at the shake of a cold hand on my arm, gripping tight, at glowing yellow eyes in the dark. M'raaj Dar, the Khajiit mage from the Sanctuary. I sucked in a breath, heart fluttering, untangling myself from the bed. "What? What's happened?"

"It's Teinaava, he's wounded. Hurry, idiot."

No time to change, barely enough time to throw a cloak over my nightdress and stick my bare feet in shoes. I was still groggy, thinking myself half-dreaming until we made way into the depths of the Sanctuary. The scent of blood woke me properly.

"There you are." Vicente, sitting by Teinaava's side as Ocheeva stood. A flicker of relief at his calm nod, reaching for a cloth to wipe his hands. It was bad, but not deadly. "Thank you for coming."

"Of – of course." I hardly had a choice in the matter, did I? But any irritation vanished at the Argonian's pained hiss, laying belly down on the bed with claws digging into the sheets. From his lower back jutted the shaft of an arrow, embedded deep. I winced in sympathy. "What happened?"

"He was on contract when an unknown assailant attacked. When he turned to fight, the coward ran." It was Ocheeva who answered, brisk and tight. "He traveled back here on foot."

"… The traitor?"

Vicente shook his head. "I do not believe so. The traitor has always attacked with a blade, never by bow. Likely a highwayman who realized he had bitten off more than he could chew, as it were." Teinaava groaned and his sister stiffened, nares flaring.

"Sithis' sake, whatever you're going to do, do it quickly."

I managed not to flinch. The wound wasn't lethal, thank gods – if I did this right, he would heal. But already, I felt my hands shake.

These were assassins. Murderers, who would kill with hardly a thought. The night with the Orc, still and bloodless, flickered in memory. I'd had no choice, then, no chance to save him even though I'd wanted to. But now - if I made a mistake, if I did this wrong…

Focus. Breathe and focus, Dust. Just another patient, that's all.

Raw flesh had swollen around the embedded shaft. It was almost certainly infected, then. I glanced at Vicente as I sat, all grogginess dissolving. My thoughts felt clearer, crystallizing, systematic. An exam at the University, practicing on injured guards to learn the Healing arts. That's it, focus. "Any breathing troubles?"

"No. Thankfully, it appears to have fallen short of the lung."

Thank gods. Or should I thank his god? "…I'll need a wire and forceps. And my potions, from the laboratory – one for pain, one for stemming infection. Linens, water. Vicente, could you - "

A polite nod and he was gone, leaving me alone with the siblings. The air felt tight, tense and suffocating with Teinaava's pained hisses and Ocheeva's looming presence. Twins – not just by Brotherhood but by birth, Antoinetta had told me. A realization steadied my hands with a flicker of sympathy. She was scared, too. Scared for him.

"You both joined quite young, yes?" I began cleaning the site of the wound, trying to keep my voice as light as I could under the weight of the room. An incredulous silence. Ocheeva answered, eyes narrowed.

"… Yes."

"From Black Marsh, then? You came a long way."

"… My eggmate lays here wounded and you make inane conversation?" I could almost hear the venom in her voice, seething and bubbling. "Are you mad?"

"Conversation will help distract him from the pain, and help keep him awake until I'm certain it's safe for him to take something." It was the truth. It would keep me from panicking, too. As stupid as it always felt, it was something my mentor had taught me in the University, and…

And something papa had always done. Asking his patients about their day, their week. About their families and their pasts. Anything to keep them talking and focused on something other than the pain.

As gently as I could I fingered the nock of the arrow, feeling the tension push back. Yes, it had hit bone – glanced off into a rib, maybe. Even as carefully as I moved it, he hissed. I wanted to soothe him sooner, but I'd need every ounce of my magicka to get the arrow out and the wound healed. That took precedence.

"Please. It'll help, I swear."

A beat. Ocheeva sucked in a breath through jagged teeth. "… We were offered to the Brotherhood as hatchlings."

"Shadowscales." Teinaava spoke next, giving a rasping laugh, then a grunt. "Ngh – not that you would know what that means…"

Vicente returned soundlessly, offering me the tools I asked for with a quiet nod before sitting down nearby. First the analgesic, encouraging him to drink and empty the bottle. Then a deep breath and I began my work in earnest, sliding the forceps into the wound. "Tell me about them – you. Shadowscales. It'll keep your mind busy."

He did. Explaining as I worked how he and Ocheeva had been born for this life, in their heritage and the stars that presided over their hatching. How they'd trained under Lucien so young, and saw him as a father figure – I had to bite back a scoff at that. And as he spoke, I worked. Carefully pulling back torn flesh to free the barbed arrowhead, lacing the wire tight around the shaft to finally pull it free. Washing the wound with clean water and my disinfectant, coaxing flesh to flesh as best I could to shrink the gaping hole where the arrow had buried.

In truth I only half heard them, but it was more what I felt from them that changed. The air grew lighter, tension dissipating as they shared laughter at old memories of their childhood, their training.

It was an assassin I was healing, an assassin watching my every move. But it was also a sister, watching over her injured brother.

I smoothed down the last of the bandages. Teinaava's breathing had grown slower, steadier as my last potion took him, lulling him into the deep sleep his body dearly needed. I took a deep breath of my own and stood.

Ocheeva met my eyes, expressionless. I mustered a smile. "He'll be fine. He'll need rest and his bandages changed in a day or two, but he'll be fine. Just send for me if the bandages start to yellow or anything seems off."

A moment, two. Finally Ocheeva seemed satisfied, nodding and raising her chin. "Very well. You may go."

I smiled, gathered myself, slung on my cloak. I was nearly at the well ladder, nearly out, when it all collided into me. The emotion of the night, the fear, the relief, the exhaustion crashing hard enough to make me clutch the stone wall for support.

I'm healing assassins. I'm working for assassins. I'm okay, it's okay, I did what I had to, they're twins, they're family, they're murderers – A jumble of thoughts, only interrupted by a gentle hand on my shoulder making me gasp.

"Dust."

My heart leapt into my throat. I turned slowly to meet Ocheeva's golden eyes, narrowed into slits as she examined me like prey. What happened? Had I done something wrong? "Oche – ma'am?"

A slow blink. She pulled back and inhaled, proud and quiet, a leader. Thinking on it – from what Teinaava had said, she couldn't have been much older than me. But she held herself straight and strong, seeming older than her years. "Thank you."

My mouth went dry. I pursed my lips, swallowed hard before dredging up an answer. "I… of course. You're welcome."

A nod of dismissal. She turned on her heel, tail swinging behind her, leaving me staring after until I came back to my senses. Enough to ascend the well and make my way home through the dark.

There was none of the confidence I'd felt after helping the painter. Only doubt and confusion, knowing I could have done nothing else and yet…

Papa took all comers, when I was a girl. Many in the village stole to get by. Assaulted others. Drunken fights, desperate squabbles over food. He never picked sides. He never hesitated. Everyone deserved his help.

What would he have thought of this?

Let it go. It doesn't matter, the why. I stripped off my nightdress, soiled now with blood, and changed to crawl into bed. You did what you had to, to survive. You did what you thought was right.

It was easy to trust in myself when there was no question, wasn't it? Easy to push away doubt and fear then, ignore everything I'd lost. But now…

Have faith.