Finley sat quietly on the bed, watching as Cullen paced back and forth in front of her. Every now and then he'd stop and start to say something, hands moving to help make his point, only to frown, shake his head, and resume his pacing.
Somehow, he'd managed to stay calm while the healers were present, but now that it was just the two of them, it was as though he couldn't be still for a second. She knew the feeling well, and waited patiently for him to expend his energy. It always helped her to walk it off, after all.
His hair was wild and unkempt, rogue curls springing from his head in all directions, but his eyes were so…focused. Furious.
Then there was a flash of helplessness right before he started walking again.
After a moment, he finally stopped, standing near one of the balconies and staring out at the clouded sky. He stood there for a few moments, shoulders tense, arms crossed.
Finley wondered if perhaps she should say something, but she wasn't sure what she could say that would actually help.
"How long?"
"Cullen…" Finley started, feeling a sinking pit in her stomach.
"Maker, the way you've been excusing yourself lately…was it because of…?" His voice broke, and he couldn't finish his question. Instead, he turned, his eyes asking what he couldn't, all but pleading with her to tell him he was wrong.
But she couldn't.
Looking down at their bedsheets, Finley nodded once, finding that her own voice didn't want to answer her. As she picked at the fabric, idly thinking about how well-made it was, Cullen strode back over to her. Half tripping, half sliding onto the bed in front of her, he reached out and caught her left hand, pulling it toward him, palm up, so that he could see the mark.
He reached out to trace that awful line with his thumb, but hesitated, as though merely touching the damned thing would make it act up again.
Sometimes it seemed like that was all it took.
Part of her wanted to scream. She wanted to yell that she'd told them from the beginning that the mark was something vile, that she didn't want it anywhere near her, but they'd met her pleas over and over with platitudes and assurances that it wasn't as evil as she thought it was.
It didn't take blood to use, after all.
Like that alone made it good. She knew better than anyone just how much damage could be done to someone without spilling a single drop of blood.
If they'd taken her seriously when she'd first told them, then maybe they could have researched it better, maybe they could have found some way to get rid of it before time ran out.
But they hadn't.
Why look too closely at a Maker given blessing?
Aside from the fact that even the slightest glance at the damned thing all but proved it wasn't a blessing of any sort.
And now, the longer she went between closing rifts, the worse it got.
It had been foolish to think she could have hidden how it was changing from everyone. After all, she slept with Cullen, and as vigilant as she tried to be, as much as she tried to slip out of sight whenever she felt that awful pressure building up right before a snap, she'd known eventually she wouldn't be able to react fast enough.
This was the first time it had happened while she was asleep, though.
Truly, it had been foolish to hide it. And yet, it had been a way to deny it. If she was the only one who knew, then sometimes she could almost convince herself that it wasn't real, a trick of the mind or a nightmare.
Now, though…
Reaching out her free hand, she brushed her fingers against Cullen's jaw and up into his hair. "It'll be alright."
At that, he choked back a sob. "I…should be the one telling you that."
Letting go of her hand, he pulled her to him, holding her tightly, his fingers digging slightly into her skin as though if he loosened his grip she might slip away into nothing. She leaned her head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent, heartbreaking at the tremble that shook through him.
"Anything I can do, I'll do it," he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to her neck.
With a faint smile, she put her arms around him. "I know you will."