I know you're eager to read this one so I'll stay quick! My hike was wonderful but just exhausting, I didn't get much sleep the last few days so I'm still super tired, so I apologize in advance if there are more mistakes than usual, I didn't as well as I usually do! I really really love this chapter so I hope you like it too!

As always in this fic, trigger warnings apply for this work, about domestic abuse and mention of domestic abuse.

She didn't see Hart throwing the gun and the silencer on the floor. She didn't hear when Tamlin started yelling at Hart about how stupid he'd just been and how they could have paid her off, she didn't register as Rhysand came between both men to try and tell them to stop yelling. She only saw the blood spreading, a pool of red getting bigger and bigger on the carpet.

"We need to help her," she whispered, and only at the sound of her own hoarse voice did she realize she had stopped screaming. None of the men in the room heard her, but she really didn't care. She couldn't take her eyes off the body, the ginger hair mixing in with the blood, the shades of red like a crown around Sandy's head. Her eyes were still open in an expression of surprise.

Feyre took a step towards her, her mind still somewhat unaware of anything happening around her. She didn't hear as Tamlin yelled at her to get the hell away, she just took another step forward. A second later, she was on her knees, her dress starting to get soaked in the pool of red, her hands around Sandy's head as she tried to wake her up. She wasn't breathing right, she couldn't remember how to breathe anymore, she just knew she needed to help Sandy. But then there were large hands on her shoulders, and someone was calling her name. She knew the voice, but she didn't look away from Sandy's unmoving eyes, she didn't move her hands away from the sides of her face, because maybe if she stayed with Sandy, the blood would go back inside her body. But the voice wouldn't stop talking. There were other voices in the room, too. There were two voices yelling at each other in the distance, speaking on top of each other without seeming to stop. And then there was a quiet voice, a soothing voice, just beside her, saying her name over and over again. That voice slowly made its way into her head.

"Feyre, Feyre please can you look at me? Feyre, I know it's hard but you need to stop looking at her. Look at me instead, alright? Feyre. You don't have to move, just turn your eyes to me."

The voice kept on saying her name, and then she found herself tearing her eyes away to look at the voice. She found deep blue eyes where the voice came from, and those eyes were alive, they were full of life, and it was reassuring to find something alive in the world again. Air entered her lungs as she took in Rhysand crouching beside her, his hands on her shoulders. But then the air was too much, she was breathing too fast, and she felt that her hands were wet.

"We need to help her," she let out between two breaths.

"Feyre, I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do to help her. She's gone."

"No, she can't be … We need to call for help."

"It's too late. I'm so sorry, but she's dead," and there was true pain in his eyes, true enough to make Feyre realize he wasn't lying to her.

"She's… she's dead," she let out in a breath, trying to process the situation.

"Yes, she is. Now, please Feyre, try to calm your breathing, okay? I'm going to need you to step away from her."

Feyre turned back to Sandy, and realized she had soaked her hands and legs in blood. She yanked her hands back and was about to crawl away when Rhysand caught her wrists.

"Just… I know it's hard but… you're covered in blood, try not to touch too many things, okay?"

She nodded, and the rest of the room started to slowly come into focus. There was a gun on the floor, not too far away from her. And beside the gun, Tamlin and Hart were still arguing, not sparing one look in the direction of the body, in her direction. Her wrists still held gently in Rhysand's hands, she tried to calm her breathing and to listen to what her boyfriend was saying.

"I don't care what you thought, Hart. You killed her. In my house, in front of my girlfriend. If you think there won't be consequences for this, you're wrong!"

"I was doing you a favor!"
"A favor?! Get the hell out of here!" She had never seen Tamlin this angry before, and it scared her.

"Nobody is leaving the scene," Rhys said, his voice calm but authoritarian. Miles away from the soothing tone he had used a second earlier with her, and yet he was still stroking her wrists between his fingers, somehow the only thing keeping her from crying. "Nobody leaves until we decide what to do."

"There's not much to do," Hart said, his tone even, as if he hadn't just killed a woman. "We need to get rid of the body and the evidence."

Rhysand tore his eyes away from Feyre to look at Hart and Tamlin. "We're not getting rid of her. She has a kid, she can't just disappear."

"We need to call the police," Feyre said, looking at Tamlin. "We need to call them right now and -"

"Feyre, shut the fuck up," Tamlin said without looking at her, his harsh cold voice making her tears rise again. "Don't you get involved in this with your righteous ideas, or I swear to God I will make you regret this day and -"

"Hey!" Rhysand interrupted. "Read the room, man. She's having a panic attack, so why don't you try and calm her down instead of threatening her, huh?"

"How I chose to deal with her is none of your business, Morgan. Or do you agree with calling the police?"

"We're not calling the police!" Hart yelled. "I'm gonna get rid of the body and be done with this mess."

"I said 'no'," Rhysand repeated. "We're not making her disappear to cover up your crime, Hart."

"Do you have a better idea? Because I'm not going to jail!"

Rhysand sighed, and Feyre saw him take in the scene, from the gun on the floor, to Hart and Tamlin with their fists clenched, to Feyre herself, where his eyes lingered a second longer than the rest. Finally, he spoke. "We're going to move her, and the gun. Away from here, but in a place where she'll be found in the morning."

Tamlin stared at Rhysand as if he was going to protest, but the power had shifted in the room the second the words had come out of Rhysand's mouth, and Tamlin simply said:

"What do we do?"

"Tamlin, I want you to find something to erase prints with. We need to erase all evidence from her body that Feyre touched her. I'll do the same with the gun. Hart, you'll help us move the body and clean here afterwards." He turned to her, and his voice was soothing again. "Feyre, I need you to go to your bathroom, take off your clothes, clean your legs and hands. Then I need you to wait in the bathroom for us. Can you do that?"

There was faith in his eyes, faith that she could do it. "I can," she answered, and he gave her a smile.

"Good, that's really good. Go upstairs, try not to touch anything unnecessary on your way up. We'll clean up whatever you absolutely need to touch. Now, go."

She was in such a mess. She heard the men downstairs move something heavy, she heard the front door opening, and minutes later, she heard a car taking off. All the while, she was running her hands under the water, scrubbing as hard as she could to get the blood off her skin. But for as hard as she scratched, the water going down on the sink always seemed to be as red as it was at first. With every drop of red water going down the drain, she kept seeing the carpet of the living room, soaked under her knees. And with every movement of the soap on her hands, she only pictured Sandy's eyes, injected with blood from the drugs, staring blankly at her.

It was all his fault.

If Rhysand had just kept his mouth shut about Tamlin's activities, she would have never found out about it, and she wouldn't be scrubbing blood from under her fingernails at the moment. Rhysand was the one to blame for all of this, because he had been the one to tell her the truth, a truth that had forced her to investigate, forced her to get in contact with Sandy. If he'd just kept his mouth shut, she would probably be attending another dinner party, enjoying a margarita or a mojito in the living room of one of their friend's houses. She looked down at the light blue summer dress she was wearing that Tamlin had bought her the week before. She would probably be wearing this very dress at the dinner party. Instead of attending dinner parties, she was washing her hands to get rid of an innocent woman's blood, a woman that would probably never get the justice she deserved.

It was all his fault.

Except … It wasn't.

It was her fault.

She had been the one prying around for weeks, even though Tamlin had forbidden her to do so, even after Rhysand had asked her to be careful about it. She had been the one insisting with Sandy, begging her to help her. She was the only person responsible for Sandy's death. Hart might have pulled the trigger, but she was the one that had led that poor woman to her death. And now they were going to dump her body somewhere, her face free of any trace of Feyre, the gun with all and every fingerprint erased. Sandy would lay there, alone, waiting for someone to find her and do the right thing by calling the police. But even when the police would get there, they wouldn't be able to understand what had happened, why this big shot businesswoman had been found in a dark alley, shot in the head, her body full of drugs. And Sandy would become a cold case, a forgotten woman. All because of her.

It was all her fault.

She heard the car stopping in front of the house, and the front door opening again. As she kept washing her fingers, the water still running red, she heard the three men come in and talk. Quietly enough at first, but then Tamlin's voice rose above the others.

"Like hell I'm staying calm, Rhys! She needs to understand that she has to stay quiet about all this and ..."

"Not tonight, she doesn't!" Rhysand said in an equally strong voice, "She's traumatized, she just saw someone die! Now, either you can stay calm and be of help to the woman you love, or you stay down here, and clean up your living room!"

There was more mumbling, and then someone coming up the stairs and inside the bedroom. She was surprised that Tamlin knocked on the door of the bathroom, but then -

"Feyre," Rhysand said from outside the bathroom, "are you ok? Can I come in?"

"Rhysand!? Where's Tamlin? What's going on?"

"He … needed to cool off for a bit. He's cleaning up downstairs. Can I come in? Are you … decent?"

She didn't want to think of the implication that Tamlin wanted to yell at her. Because he was right, it was her fault and he was correct to be mad. But she couldn't dwell on this right now, so she just answered.

"You can come in, I'm not done yet."

The door opened and Rhysand entered. He stood by the door and looked at her.

"Feyre, what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to get the blood out, I wanted to finish with my hands before I wash my legs. But I can't get all the blood to wash away."

He took a step towards her. "Feyre, your hands are clean."

She looked at him, and he was staring at her hands, still under the water. He must have seen the confusion on her face, because he nodded towards her hands. She looked down, and -

The running water was clear. There was no blood mixing with it anymore, and her hands were completely normal, not one trace of red under her fingernails. She couldn't take her eyes off it. How long had she been scrubbing her skin for nothing?

"Feyre, maybe you should clean your legs now."

Right. Her legs, all the way up to her knees, were still covered in blood. She looked at them, her hands clenching the side of the sink, and then tears started to run down her face.

"I can't do it. I can't start all over again," she said between her sobs, and the realization that she couldn't wash Sandy's blood off of her hit her. She couldn't erase every trace of the woman as if she had been nothing. What was she supposed to do, just forget tonight had happened?

"I understand," Rhys said, and he advanced towards her. "Sit down on the side of the bathtub, will you?"

She didn't think twice about it. She wasn't sure she had the energy to think anymore, so she did what he asked and sat down. Rhys grabbed a laundry basin which he filled with water, and a clean sponge from the cleaning supplies, and he laid it all down beside her feet. He then kneeled in front of her, and removed the espadrilles she'd been wearing. Once the shoes were out of the way, he took off his jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and plunged the sponge into the water. He lifted the dress slightly to get it off her knees, and he started stroking her legs with the sponge.

They didn't say a word, the only sound in the bathroom the splash of the water when he plunged the sponge inside the basin again. Soon, the water was completely red, and he got up to change it, but Feyre didn't move. She just let tears roll down her cheeks, she let him wash away what she couldn't. He changed the water in the basin another time before he spoke again.

"It's not your fault. What happened tonight. None of it is your fault."

For the first time since he'd made her sit, she looked down at him, taking in his black hair, and the fact that she could see hints of a tattoo peeking out of his collar. She huffed a breath that might have been a small laugh.

"You don't have to lie to me. I know I'm the one responsible for all this."

"I'm not lying to you," he said, wringing the sponge into the basin, "what happened was a terrible error of judgement by an already riled-up man who had been looking for a fight all day."

"I'm the one who brought her to the house."

He stopped at that, his hand motionless on her knee. "You're not. Sandy could have chosen not to help you. She could have chosen to walk away from you, or she could have chosen not to meet you at the park. She could have stayed away from the drug that rendered her frantic enough to come back tonight. She could have chosen not to threaten them about going to the cops. It's not your fault that she was in this house tonight, do you hear me?"

"But Tamlin took her job away because of me, and I heard him say to you that it was my fault."

"Don't get me started on Tamlin. He could have chosen a fairer punishment for what she'd done. Even better, he could have chosen not to lie to the woman he's supposedly in love with, and avoided all of this."

"But still, all of you went and moved everything, erased everything. Now Sandy will never have a chance at justice because of us. Because of me."

"I did what I had to do in the given circumstances, Feyre. Trust me when I tell you that every decision I took tonight was well thought out, and the best I could do for Sandy."

"But you erased the evidence. You erased the fingerprints from the gun."

"I got rid of what I had to get rid of. Sandy's body will be discovered tomorrow, and she will be given back to her family. It's the best I could do for now. And her death is not your fault, Feyre. Okay?"

He stared right into her eyes, and after a few seconds, Feyre nodded, and Rhys resumed his movements on her leg. Another basin of clear water later, he let the sponge fall into the water and got up from his knees.

"Alright, now I'm going to need you to give me your dress."

"Can you take my shoes and my … and my underwear, too? I don't think I can look at them anymore."

"Sure. Where do I find clean clothes for you?"

"I can go get them."

"Your dress is still dirty, it's better if you only stay in one spot. Easier to clean up."

"Oh. My underwear are in the top drawer of my dresser, I only need underpants. And then there are leggings and tank tops in the second drawer."

"Alright."

He left the bathroom, and Feyre felt his absence strongly, as if all the warmth had gone with him, and she shivered suddenly. But Rhys wasn't gone long, he came back a minute later with her clothes.

"I saw this sweater on top of the dresser and I thought you might want it. And here are the leggings, the tank top and the underpants. You have some very flimsy stuff in that drawer, Darling," he added with a wink, a clear attempt to take her mind off the events of the night. Strangely, it worked for a half-second, she rolled her eyes at him and yanked the clothes out of his hands, and he gave her a smile before getting out. Feyre got up, took out everything she'd been wearing and put it into the laundry basin along with the sponge and her shoes - she was never going to touch any of this again. Moments later, she was in clean leggings and a warm sweater.

"I'm done," she declared, hoping Rhys was still waiting outside the door. He came in and grabbed the basin, then said:

"I'm going to have to wash the bathroom now. Why don't you go to bed, try and get some rest. Tamlin and Hart are almost done down there, and I only have to clean up a bit in here, and then we'll be out of your sight. I'm sure Tamlin will be happy to come in and stay with you as soon as he can."

She didn't deem it necessary to state the obvious: that they both knew Tamlin was still angry, and that if he came into the room right now, he would only yell at her some more. Rhys might know Tamlin, but he wasn't privy to their life as a couple, and she wanted it to stay that way. So she simply nodded and went to the door. When she was about to leave the bathroom, she turned back to watch him, standing there with a basin full of her clothes, and she said:

"Thank you, Rhys."

"You're welcome, Darling. Now try and get some sleep."