Page 112 of Unravelled
“This will need to be stitched,” he murmured, mostly to himself.
As he guided her into the pool, his movements stayed carefully deliberate. Even as the warmth seeped into her bones, the blood stayed. She sank into the water, as the heat wrapped around her, pulling her under. Ren followed alongside her at the pool's edge, rolling up his sleeves, kneeling beside her.
His hands found hers. Gently, he cupped her fingers, dipping them into the water. Mira stared at the surface of the water, at the way it swirled, the blood unfurling like smoke.
Ren reached for a cloth, soaked it, and pressed it to her shoulder first. Careful. Soft. Wiping away the dried sweat, the filth of battle. He worked in silence, trailing the cloth down her arms, over her bruised ribs, up to the curve of her neck.
Ren’s hand dipped into the water again, dragging the cloth over her collarbone, washing away what was left of the night. Mira swallowed hard, staring at the ripples spreading out across the water, at the deep red that still swirled in lazy, dissolving patterns before vanishing beneath the surface.
Some things could be washed away. Some things couldn’t. Ren exhaled, his hand stilling just over her wrist. His voice was low, gentle. Careful.
"Will you be alright in here for a moment?" She blinked.
The words took a second to settle, to push through the fog in her mind. Would she? Mira let out a slow breath and nodded.
Ren studied her, his dark eyes searching, but he didn’t press. Didn’t make her say anything more. He just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod in return. Then, he rose, as he took a step away from the pool.
She stayed in the water, staring at the surface of the water.
The door creaked open. Tharion stepped inside. Mira lifted her head and looked over her shoulder, watching him. He looked awful. Worse than she had ever seen him.
His leathers were gone, but the dried blood still clung to his skin in places, streaked along his forearms, his collarbone. His hair was a mess, strands stiff with sweat and grime. His eyes, red-rimmed, hollowed-out.
Mira swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the bathing pool as if it could steady the weight pressing down on her chest. Tharion stood in the doorway, lost in the dim candlelight, looking like a man who had survived a battle only to realize the war had already been lost.
Her eyes flicked past him, toward Ren, who was moving behind him with slow, careful steps.
“It's okay, go on.” Ren murmured.
Tharion hesitated. Just for a breath. Just long enough that Mira saw the war waging inside him, the resistance, the stubborn refusal to let himself be taken care of when everything inside him was screaming that he didn’t deserve it.
But then he exhaled. And let Ren guide him forward. Mira turned away, giving them the space. She stared at the water instead, at the way the ripples distorted her reflection. But she still heard them. The rustle of fabric as Ren helped Tharion out of what remained of his clothing.
"I should’ve been there.” His voice was raw.
Mira’s hands curled into fists beneath the water. Ren didn’t answer right away. She heard the splash of water, the sound of Tharion lowering himself into the pool.
Mira didn’t turn, didn’t look. But she felt it, the way the grief settled between them, thick and inescapable.
“You couldn’t have stopped it,” Ren said, steady, even. “You know that.”
A ragged breath from Tharion. Then, lower, “But I could have been there.”
Mira closed her eyes, a tear slipping. Ren didn’t push. She heard the sound of water shifting, Ren’s quiet movements. Then the damp cloth being drawn over Tharion’s skin, Ren washing away the remnants of blood and battle.
For a long time, no one spoke. The water lapped gently against the edge of the pool, the steam curling around them like something sacred, something fragile. Ren waded in, slow and careful. Closer now. His hand settled gently on Mira’s shoulder, his warmth steady against her.
Tharion's voice was quiet, “I don’t... I don’t know how to do this without him.”
In that single, fractured confession pulled all the pieces into place. She had tried to make it something more, love, or at least the shadow of it. But now she saw the truth. Their bond wasn’t made for romance. It was built on loyalty, trust, and friendship.
Mira turned towards him, meeting his gaze. There was no room for embarrassment, no space for modesty. They had seen each other her bloodied, broken.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, Tharion looked like he might break. His jaw was clenched, brow furrowed, eyes shining with the weight of words left unsaid. Regret clung to him, raw, unspoken.
Tharion’s throat worked as he tried to swallow the weight behind his silence.
“I should have told you,” he rasped. “I wanted to. I just... didn’t know how.”
