"Do you remember what happened?" Kilorn leans closer, nearly tipping out of his chair. "You were unconscious when we found you. Your memory might be fried."

"No." I sit up. "I remember."

My voice trembles as I describe our encounter: the shattered lights, the gleam of the letter opener, the weight of silence dragging us down, him to hell and I to the floor. "He had me pinned against the wall with his hands around my throat. The letter opener was in my hand, but I couldn't move it, let alone gain the momentum to-" My hands shake. "But sometime during the fight, my hand was free. Free. I'm free. He's gone. I-" Why can't I breathe? "I'm free." I swallow. "I must've been squirming really hard."

"Um . . ." Across the room, a medic clears his throat. His lab coat is several sizes too big for his frame, as if he were staffed on short notice, and a nearby nurse gives him a withering look. "That's incorrect."

My head snaps. "Excuse me?"

"Given how dark the bruises at your throat were, there's no way you could've twisted from his grip without suffocating." He glances at his notes. "What actually happened-"

"Dave!" The nurse smacks his shoulder. "Stop cross examining my patients. It's rude."

He frowns. "But I'm right."

She shoves him out the door.

"Sorry about that." She turns to me, grimacing. "He's such an ass sometimes. Do you need anything?"

I shake my head. "I-I want to be alone right now."

Kilorn leaves after some prompting, as the room hushes to twilight, then darkness. But through it all, I still see a pair of haunted blue eyes. A pair of eyes that were sad and . . .

Satisfied.

I can't put it off any longer. "Come in."

Cal pushes the door open, breath ragged as he approaches my bed. "You're alive." His mouth twitches, an attempt at a smile that doesn't form. "Thank heavens." Then-

"You killed him."

Silence.

"I can't be mad." He sits down beside me, unable to meet my eyes. "You had every right. By all metrics, he deserved it." He's shaking. "It's not fair to-"

"It's alright."

"No." Cal grits his teeth. "It's not alright. And it's not going to be alright for a long time. For either of us."

We stare at the floor in silence. Say it. Say the words aloud.

"I didn't kill him."

He sighs. "Mare, don't-"

"I mean it." My voice shakes. "At the last second, h-he-" I take a breath. "He stopped fighting back. Released my arm. And let me slash the letter opener across his chest."

Cal stills.

He looks at me, eyes quivering. "I can't tell if I feel better or worse."

I sigh. "Neither can I."

More silence.

"What's done is done." I stand up. "He can't hurt us anymore."

He doesn't respond.

My foot is almost out the door by the time he speaks. "The worst part is that I never noticed. Never realized he was in pain. Never did anything to help him. If I'd only paid attention, I might've-" A choked sob. "I might've prevented all this."

I tense. "That wasn't your job."

"He's my little brother."

"It. Wasn't. Your. Fault."

"I was supposed to protect him."

"YOU WERE A CHILD, CAL!" The door slams before I can process it, my feet storming to his side of their own accord. "What could you have done? Tell me, what genius plan would ten-year-old you have concocted to thwart Elara Merandus? It better be good, because I'm not letting you torture yourself over nothing."

"I-" His shoulders droop. "I don't know."

I tuck my arms around his chest. "There was nothing you could've done. And I think deep down, he realized that. It's probably why he never said anything. He-" My throat catches. "He didn't want to hurt you."

Cal has no response.

"Look." My head nestles in the crook of his shoulder. "If there's anything I've learned from the Stilts, it's that the world just sucks sometimes. It wasn't anything you did. It's not something you can control. The universe is random and cruel, a dice roll away from casting you to the dirt. But you can't let it break you." I clench my fists. "You have to stand back up."

His breath catches. "Do you believe that? Do you really think-" Inhale. "He would've wanted this?"

My voice wobbles. "He's not in pain anymore."

"No." Cal softens. "He isn't."

We stay like that for what must be hours, abandoning the inadequacies of language for nods and hand squeezes, painful intimacies we dare not speak aloud. And though his departure is inevitable, I don't feel alone anymore.

My hand brushes my collarbone on instinct, a habit borne of silent stone and manipulative confessions to ward off any sympathy he might wrangle of me. It had been my tether to sanity, the one act that steadied my anger enough to choose my life over his.

But he's gone.

He can't hurt me unless I let him.

My fingers trace the edges for the last time, ragged and burnt, an opened wound I'd long refused to let close. Silly.

I don't need this anymore.