There’s no defensiveness in her tone. No justification. Just fear.
“I don’t think I’ve stopped being afraid since they took us,” she admits quietly. “I feel like I can’t rest until I have you all safe. Every one of you.”
She’s showing weakness and part of me responds.
There it is.
The urge rises automatically. The Bitch, sharp and cruel, ready with something cutting.
Oh, so you’re the savior now? That must be exhausting.
It would be so easy. It would feel safe.
Instead, I swallow it.
I look at her properly. Not as a rival. Not as a threat. Just… another woman who got dragged into this nightmare.
“I get it,” I say.
The words surprise both of us.
“I know what it’s like to think everything depends on you,” I continue. “To think if you mess up once, someone pays for it.”
Her eyes soften.
“You were trying to protect me,” I say. “It wasn’t pretty, but… yeah. I get it.”
There’s a long pause.
“Thank you,” she says finally.
And I realize something else. I’m not competing with her. There’s no casting call. No audition. No spotlight.
There’s no invisible scoreboard keeping track of who’s prettier, who’s more capable, who deserves to survive more.
We’re just women trying not to die.
The relief that realization brings is almost dizzying.
Thivoll joins us then, lowering himself to sit across from me. He’s massive, but there’s something grounded about him. Steady.
“You will fly,” he says, studying my wings with open curiosity.
“That’s hard to even imagine,” I reply, wincing as a muscle spasms.
“But not tonight,” Szhe’ka adds firmly.
I roll my eyes at him out of habit—then catch myself and grin instead.
“Not tonight,” I agree.
The new woman shifts against her tree, glancing at us briefly before looking away again. She doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t intrude. But she hasn’t left.
“Who’s the quiet one?” I ask.
“That’s Olivia. She takes a while to warm up to people. Don’t touch her without permission. She’s here because she had a similarly… violent transformation.”
I study her a moment longer. Not hostile. Not friendly.