Page 49 of The Threads Between

“I’ll watch her,” I said.

August. I’d left August in the carriage.

I turned back. He sat exactly as I’d left him, motionless, the pendant’s cold light steady at his chest. Empty eyes staring at nothing.

I ran to the carriage.

“August.” I reached for his hand. “Come on. We need to go inside.”

Nothing—no response, no recognition.

I pulled gently. After a moment, he stood. His body obeyed while his mind remained submerged. He let me guide him into the house.

Mrs. Hartwick’s bedroom had become a surgery.

Adeline lay on the bed, still conscious, biting down on a leather strap Mrs. Hartwick had given her. Mira knelt beside her, hands glowing that soft gold as she worked.

Garrick was on his knees on the other side of the bed, gripping the sheets with white knuckles. “Can you fix it? Mira, can you fix her hands?”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder!” His voice cracked. “Please, you have to—she can’t—Addy, god, I’m so sorry⁠—“

Adeline made a muffled sound around the leather—not words, just a desperate attempt at reassurance. Her eyes found his, trying to tell him what she couldn’t say.

“I can ease the pain,” Mira said, her voice steady despite the tears on her face. “I can prevent infection. I can help the healing start clean. But Garrick—“ Her voice cracked. “I can’t undo this. I can’t make it like it never happened.”

“No.” The word came out strangled. “No, there has to be something⁠—“

“I’m doing everything I can.” Mira’s hands glowed brighter. “But this is severe. Second and third-degree burns in places. The damage goes deep.”

Garrick pressed his forehead against the bed, shoulders shaking. “Addy. Jesus, Addy, I’m so sorry. I should have been more careful with the fire. I should have controlled it better⁠—“

“Garrick.” My voice cut through his spiraling. “Let Mira work.”

He looked at me, wild-eyed. “She’s my sister⁠—“

“I know. And Mira needs space to help her.” I moved closer and put my hand on his shoulder. “Beatrice is in the sitting room. Someone needs to check on her. Make sure she’s still breathing.”

“I can’t leave⁠—“

“You’re not helping here.” It came out harsher than I intended, but I didn’t soften it. “Go. Check on Beatrice. Come back when the doctor arrives.”

For a moment, I thought he’d refuse. Then Adeline made another sound—sharper, agreeing with me.

Garrick pressed a kiss to her forehead and stumbled from the room.

Mira’s shoulders dropped with relief. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“What happened?” Mrs. Hartwick asked quietly, handing Mira clean cloths.

“The fire got out of hand,” Mira said. “We lost Syra.”

Mrs. Hartwick’s face tightened with understanding. She didn’t ask about the rest—she could see the cost written across all of us.

Mira’s magic flowed over Adeline’s hands, and I watched the immediate swelling begin to recede. The angry red deepened in some places, lightened in others, as Mira’s power sorted damaged tissue from salvageable.

But the burns remained. The blistered, weeping skin. The places where flesh had charred.