Legacy to Zero

Interlude - Judge, Jury, Executioner

Crash

It was supposed to be a good thing that she didn't die.

I breathed out. My knees buckled, even in the chair across from her bed. I wasn't sure I could stand. Wasn't sure I knew how to breathe.

It was supposed to be a good thing. But Astra was suffering. She lay practically prone, her chin tucked so close to the sheets that it was like she'd rooted herself into the mattress. Her knife wound had healed, but it was still there. I was just the only one who could see it.

Astra had fallen asleep ages ago, but I couldn't bring myself to leave. I knew nothing about how to interpret what I was seeing, and asking River wasn't possible—from now on, I had to wear my watch everywhere. Report everything I did to the council, and ask permission for everything I wanted to do.

I swallowed, but it did nothing to cure the dry sickness like a slab of metal inside of my mouth. I'd have eaten something if I could get out of the chair.

My hands hung off the side, each finger stretched at an angle. I stared at my shoes—still marred with dirt and what I guessed were streaks of crimson blood—over the shimmering of the threads. No matter how many times I blinked and rubbed my eyes and held them closed, the double vision wouldn't leave. It was a permanent sear, now. An entrancing whisper, waiting for me to look up, to see the hole in Astra's midsection.

But I couldn't. I couldn't see it again. Once was enough.

I didn't want to look again and see how much of her it had eaten away. I didn't want to look again and see much of her was left.

Astra's slow breathing floated through the room. I sat, every inhale falling into sync with hers. Hoping her dreams were better than this.

A knock at the door came, followed by Kendra entering. I looked up, before all that I could see blocked my view of her face with her thread, and I swept my vision back to the floor. Her thread was so short, tied in a knot at the base of her throat, cut like a spiderweb crack against glass.

It was odd, how even the most imperfect thing about my sister wasn't imperfect at all.

Wordlessly, she came over to me. Her hands wrapped around my neck. She was warm, her fingers callused like they always were, from all the hours she spent practicing the violin. "I'm here," she said at last.

Thank you. But the words didn't leave my mouth. I need you here, right now. But I couldn't say it aloud.

"Sage is here, too," she continued. "We'll be in the living room if you want to join us."

"Help me up?" I asked.

She tilted her head but stuck out her hand for me to grab. I let my body go slack as she pulled me to my feet. My legs were water, my hands digging into hers.

"Are you okay?"

I shook my head. What was the point of lying about that? The right thing isn't always easy.

She didn't move for a long time. Neither did I. Her hug was gentle, like it always was, like she thought I was as delicate as her violin. If only we could have switched places. But I wasn't even sure I wanted to give her my fate.