"I swore myself to Emile so I could see you again." He swallows, and I hear his body shift. "To say goodbye."

My throat closes up, and I fight angry tears. "Why would you do that, Roman? Why would you swear to him?"

"What the fuck was I supposed to do? Nothing? Not an option. I'm going—"

"Sure seemed like an option a few hours ago. This is just guilt." I hate the things I'm saying to him. I hate that every fiber of my being believes them to be true. There is no shred of doubt, no tiny glimmer to hang my ill-advised hopes from. No matter what he's told me, he didn't mean what he said.

We can regret the things we say and still mean them.

I've seen Roman in all stages of his guilt and grief when it comes to his brother. The only reason he is here now is because of it. He doesn't care for me enough to want the broken fuckup that I am; he made that clear. The worst part is that I'd ever hoped he could. There should be a word for simultaneous embarrassment and heartbreak. I'm a fool, simple as that. After seeing the shattered parts of me, to hope he might not think I was too much is delusional. That my grief wasn't too big, that my failings and coping mechanisms weren't too hard to deal with. I'd hoped so desperately that my broken heart held together by moonlit wishes and crossed fingers might be enough for him. "I can't handle carrying your regrets on top of everything else, so just leave me alone," I snap.

"I don't regret what I said at the cemetery." When Roman's words register, I laugh, high-pitched and surprised. I'm about to crawl away from him when he continues. "I should've said it sooner. I should've told you I can't stand the sight of you, that you are nothing to me." He reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling it through the bars to stop me from moving away. "I should've said I never think about you." His lips graze my knuckles, and my breath catches. "That I could never want you." He kisses the inside of my wrist, and my pulse races. "That your heart wouldn't fit perfectly in my hands." My eyes water when he presses his mouth to the center of my palm. "I would be the world's most accomplished liar, sweetheart, if it meant you were safe."

Swallowing a sob, I pull my hand back. I'm surprised he lets me. "Roman, it's too late. Please. P-please, don't."

It's too late.It's too late, it's too late.This is guilt and nothing more.Do not let him in.

I hear him run his hands through his hair and then swipe one over his rough beard. Little sounds I've grown far too accustomed to. I'd told myself from the very beginning that Roman would be the one to ruin me, and he's done it so thoroughly in such a short time. Everything I've ever known has been upended, and I should want nothing to do with him. I should have never gotten close to him, grown fond of him, fallen for him. The way I currently feel is all my fault.

If only Bjorn would return faster, this feeling would go away sooner. His return will take away all my suffering, and I will finally know peace. I will stop craving the impossible, I will stop grieving, stop struggling through existence. I will finally be free from everything which has ever caused me pain. When I cup my head in my hands, warm tears splash into my palms, and I'm sure Roman smells the salt of them.

"Gwyn..." Soft, he soothes me against my will. "I'll protect you."

"Forgive me if your protection means very little from behind these bars." Though I meant for it to come out cold, Roman's deep voice has rolled through me and taken out the bite.

"I'll convince Emile to come to my side. My father will consider his opinion now that the coven will belong to him. What I did...it...I guess it cost me the coven, but I don't want it. Frankly, I don't know if I ever did. I care about them, my people, sure. I've known them my whole life, grown up with them, fought with them, but I don'tneedthem."

I'm shaking as I exhale. "You want things to be different. You want to be the leader they deserve," I argue, even if it hurts.

"But I don't need it. Not like I need—"

There's a loud bang from above, and I'm almost worried the building is collapsing. It makes me giggle to myself. Dying in a cell because of a building collapse is peak hilarity to me in my tired, anxious state. And once I start, I can't stop. I'm wiping tears and snot from my face when I hear shouting from above.

"Fuck," Roman says, clambering to his feet. "He's here." He grunts as if he's in pain. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. I didn't think he'd come down here himself. " He paces as we hear thunderous footsteps going down the stairs. Far too fast, Bjorn’s using his vampire speed to get down here. The man is furious.

"Roman, against the wall, hands on your head.You move, and I kill her in front of you. I'll leave her rotting corpse for you to gorge yourself on until I decide what to do with you, you fucking disgrace." Bjorn's voice is thick with his accent, echoing down the stairwell as he gets nearer. Roman fights the compulsion, but it doesn't last long before he stumbles backward and slams into the wall.

"Father!" Roman shouts. "It’s not—"

"SILENCE," Bjorn roars, and even though he can't compel me, my throat closes up as if I'm susceptible to his words. Within a breath, Bjorn is standing at the bottom of the stairs. He has a flashlight, and he shines it over Roman first, staring such animosity at his son, it makes me sick. Roman is still in the same clothes he'd been wearing before, but his jacket is missing. His shirt is ripped and covered in a red spray. But he's still the same Roman who broke my heart hours ago. Still tall and sturdy and larger than life. I worry about what Bjorn might do to him. There's a slick of blood on his cheek, as if there was a wound beneath it that has since healed. I don't know what he was doing before this, and part of me doesn't want to know. Did he endure torture for a chance to speak to me?

"You," Bjorn snarls, pointing his flashlight toward me. I can barely make him out over the bright beam, but I can see his vicious teeth bared at me. "Abomination. I should give my son a thousand deaths for what he has created. Did you use a spell? Did a backwoods witch or some sorcerer give you something to lead him astray?" Bjorn crosses from the steps to the bars of my cell in two quick strides. I don't move, a shiver creeping up my back. I can feel Roman's eyes on me from where I sit.

"Perhaps," I retort. "It couldn't possibly have been anything else, could it? It's not as if he learned compassion from you." Bjorn surges forward, grabbing the sharpened silver bars with his bare hands and bending them apart. I can tell it takes quite a bit of strength as he fights against the reinforced silver. I don't flinch, don't even move. The smell of burnt skin floods my nostrils, and all I can do is watch. In the dropped flashlight's beam, he is a sharp-angled shadow. Even though I'm still sitting, my dress pulled over my knees, I feel a strange surge of certainty. Though I'm in a position of weakness here, there is strength behind my words. What I said—or perhaps my unwillingness to cower before him—has struck a nerve. But Bjorn will not shake me.

I have confidence earned through trauma, honed by my darker moments, and purified by my survival. Since I've spent so much of my life yearning for death, I won't face it with fear. An old friend who has walked beside me for countless long nights waits for me in Bjorn's promised violence. I will not cower before him.

Roman is thrashing against the wall, fighting to move, and there's a low whine coming from him as he struggles against his father's command for silence. Bjorn steps closer, leaning between the bars, and I can finally make out his blond hair as he bends over me. "Perhaps it was unwise to question my compassion when you are at my mercy, little bitch."

His hand shoots into my hair, grasping it at the crown as he pulls me up. His flashlight gets kicked, and it spins, illuminating the room almost like a strobe light. It's dizzying. I struggle to keep my feet beneath me as he pulls me between the bars. My thighs scrape against the roughened silver and I can't help but cry out in pain. I'm fighting against Bjorn with as much strength as I have, but he overpowers me as he pulls me toward the stairs. He gets an arm across my chest and drags me backward, and all I can see is Roman. He's fighting against Bjorn's physical command, staggering forward before stumbling back. His teeth are bared, angry fangs glinting as the flashlight finally settles on him. His hair is in disarray, long tendrils wet with sweat and blood brushing over his face. It takes me a moment to realize he's yelling because no sound comes out. I'm holding my hair where Bjorn has it wrapped around his fist, my feet kicking out as I try to get my balance while he drags me.

It's my name that Roman is yelling. Over and over.

A tear runs down his face as his body gives up against Bjorn's compulsion. My heart breaks when I realize this is his worst nightmare coming true once more. Watching helplessly while someone he cares about is taken from him. This is all Roman has ever hoped to avoid, and it's a horrifying thing that just keeps happening to him. I want to tell him it will be alright, that everything will be just fine, and not to worry.

But I can't. I know it's not true.

"Someone will be down to deal with you shortly, son," Bjorn barks out. I get just a moment to plant myself and pull against him, and he stumbles back a step. Roman capitalizes on Bjorn's split attention as he rushes toward the bars. But he doesn't have the strength his father has, so he hisses in pain when he tries to pry his cell open. Bjorn rights himself, and starts dragging me once more, and Roman roars in anguish.