Page 93 of Run of Ruin

He looked… horrible.

Still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, his shirt rumpled, collar stained with sweat and something darker. His copper hair was a tangled, damp mess, clinging to his forehead. But it was his face that made my stomach twist. Hollow. Gaunt. Bruised. His eyes were empty, a glassy, distant stare. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, every step dragging like his body might give out at any second. His lip busted and bleeding.

His gaze flicked up, found us tangled in the kitchen, and he gave the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, voice hoarse and cracking around the edges like it hadn’t been used in hours. Or maybe it’d been overused. The thought twisted my stomach. “I was hoping I wouldn’t wake anybody.”

He turned to cut across the living room, aiming straight for the hallway like he could disappear before anyone stopped him. But I was already moving, stepping out of Thorne’s arms. He didn’t try to stop me, he knew I needed to get to Zaffir.

I met him halfway, planting myself in front of him so fast he nearly stumbled trying not to crash into me. He looked down at me, and for a heartbeat, his expression crumpled. Pain or shame, maybe even something worse.

“Zaffir,” I breathed, scanning his injuries. There were bruises, fresh ones at his jaw and the edge of his throat. His lip was split and dried blood caked his skin. A raw, chafed mark circled his wrist like a shackle had been there. Fury boiled in my veins.

“What happened?” I demanded, my voice softer than I felt.

He shook his head, eyes darting past me like he could slip away unnoticed. “You don’t have to worry about me,” he said tightly, trying to sidestep.

But I matched him, cutting him off again. “Too late,” I challenged, lifting a hand to touch his arm. The second my fingers brushed him, he flinched, a sharp, involuntary jerk like a wounded, cornered animal. It broke something in me.

“Zaffir…” I whispered again, voice cracking.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. A lie so thin it barely held shape in the air between us.

“What happened to you, Zaf?” I choked, tears blurring my vision as I looked at him. Because no one came back from wherever they took him looking like that unless something terrible happened. And from the way his hands trembled and his body flinched at my touch, whatever it was, it was worse than I could imagine.

“Who did this to you?” I asked, my voice low but sharp, trembling with the fury burning hot in my chest. It coiled inside me, heavy and molten, ready to consume the world for him.

Zaffir’s hollow gaze met mine, and for a moment, the ghost of the boy I knew flickered behind those empty eyes. “Nobody you can do anything about,” he murmured, his voice rough like gravel, but steady.

But I already knew.

Praxis.

Archon Veritas.

The names struck like cold steel against my heart.

“This was… this was because of what I said, wasn’t it?” I whispered, the guilt crashing over me like a tidal wave. My stomach twisted, and it felt like my ribs cracked under the weight of it. Tears blurred my vision, spilling hot and fast down my cheeks. “I did this to you. I ran my mouth, I was reckless, and I…I didn’t even think what it could mean for you. You told me to thank them, and instead I go and antagonize them. Call them murderers. God, I was so stupid, and childish…”

“Stop.” His voice was gentle, frayed around the edges, but unshakable. His face softened, like it physically hurt him to watch me fall apart. “No, sweetheart. No, this wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed, my throat tight and aching. “I’m so, so sorry, Zaffir. I was stupid. I didn’t know…I didn’t think…”

Thorne’s hands settled on my shoulders from behind, steady and grounding. Zaffir reached for my hands, his fingers trembling but warm, curling around mine with surprising strength despite his condition.

“It wasn’t what you said, Brexlyn,” he whispered, and my name in his voice felt like both a blessing and a curse. “Veritas already had a reason.”

I blinked up at him, confused, my breath hitching. “What do you mean?”

“She warned me once. That Praxis and the Collectives were like wolves and lambs. And you… you were off limits.” He shook his head, his red hair falling in front of his eyes. “She had footage,” he said, his eyes flickering with old pain. “From the trial. When Briar pulled you out of the water and you weren’t breathing.” His voice cracked. “She saw my face. She saw how I reacted… how it broke me. She saw how you meant to me. She saw that the lamb had all the power over the wolf.”

I sucked in a sharp, shaking breath, horror twisting inside me. “She tortured you because you care about me?”

He shook his head once, slowly, like this was the one thing he wouldn’t let me misunderstand. “No,” he said, voice rough but clear, his thumb brushing away a tear on my cheek. “Because I love you.”

My heart cracked wide open, the jagged edges splintering and bleeding in my chest. I couldn’t breathe through the storm of sobs wracking my body. My throat burned, my vision blurred, and I clung to the frayed edges of myself.

“I’m so sorry, Zaffir,” I choked out, my voice a broken, desperate thing. “I never meant for this… I never wanted-”

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