Grief

The heaviest burden is carried in the quietest grief.

The air was thick with silence as I stepped inside the dim room.

Alice looked up from where he sat, his pale eyes meeting mine with a smile that held a thousand unspoken truths.

It wasn't a smile of joy, but of understanding — a quiet acknowledgment of everything unsaid between us.

The weight of it hit me like a sudden choke, tightening my throat until I struggled for breath.

I sank into the chair opposite him, the fight draining from my limbs.

"How... how can you smile?" I asked, voice rough. How could he smile when I was feeling like crying.

Alice met my gaze steadily, his pale eyes calm and clear.

"I'm at peace," he said simply. "I've made my choice. I'm going to make the most of whatever little time I have left."

The weight of my regret pressed down harder. "I'm sorry."

But Alice shook his head gently, a faint smile softening his tired features.

"No," he said. "Don't carry that. You did everything you could."

"No," he said. "Don't carry that. You did everything you could."

And that was the moment my tears finally broke free.

I turned my face away, covering my eyes with a trembling hand. The burn in my throat was almost unbearable — a grief too vast to contain, spilling out despite every effort to hold it back.

Alice didn't speak. I felt the faint shift of the mattress as he leaned closer, his hand brushing lightly against my other arm. A small, warm touch.

"Don't misunderstand, Shay."

His voice was steady, stronger than I'd heard it in days. I lowered my hand just enough to see him, eyes blurred with tears.

"I won't give up," Alice said, a faint but fierce smile tugging at his lips. "I'll fight until the very end. That's the only way I know how to live."

I nodded, swallowing hard past the lump in my throat.

"I know," I whispered.

Alice drew a slow breath, then looked at me.

"Shay… can I ask something of you?"

I nodded, my throat too tight for words.

"Don't tell Des."

"He deserves to spend these days with me, happy. Just as we always were." Alice's voice softened, almost a whisper. "If he knew… he couldn't let me go. He would try to hold on, even if it meant chaining me to a bed. Even if it meant breaking himself."

A thin, bittersweet smile touched his lips.

"I want us to be at home together. Laughing, arguing over nonsense, waking up in each other's arms. I want his last memories of me to be warm—not shadowed by fear of losing me."

My chest ached so badly I could hardly draw breath. But I nodded again, more firmly this time.

"I promise," I whispered. "I won't tell him."

I reached into my coat and pulled out a small glass vial, the crimson liquid within catching the dim light.

Alice's eyes widened slightly.

"Take it," I said, my voice husky. I pressed it gently into his hand. "A few drops if you start to feel worse. It might not give you much, but it could buy you a little more time… or at least make it easier."

Alice closed his fingers around the vial. "Thank you, Shay."

That was all it took. My composure crumbled again, tears spilling over before I could turn away. I covered my face with my hand.

When I finally forced myself to look up, his eyes were gentle — unbearably gentle.

"Shay," he said softly, "you need to let go of this burden."

My breath caught.

"I know what you're thinking," Alice went on, thumb brushing faintly over my sleeve. "That if you were stronger, or braver, or more relentless, I wouldn't be here like this."

He shook his head, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips.

"But even if you can bend the path of fate, you can't stretch a life that was never meant to be long. I was born with only so much time. Nothing you did or didn't do could change that."

"So please… let go of this. Don't carry it for me."

I tried to answer, but no words would come.

Alice's smile softened. "Because of you… I get to say goodbye. That's more than most people ever get. I deeply appreciate this."

I bowed my head. Alice just kept smiling, a small, human gesture that somehow carried the weight of forgiveness, and the quiet grace of an ending neither of us could change.

The quiet was broken by the sound of the door opening. Des stepped inside, his eyes immediately falling on me with concern.

"What's with the sullen face, Shay?" he asked, voice low but edged with curiosity.

I shrugged, unable to meet his gaze.

Alice, sitting nearby, caught Des's attention with a soft smile. "Come here," he called gently, patting the space beside him.

Des approached, and without hesitation, Alice reached up and kissed him—a brief, tender moment filled with unspoken love.

I watched them, a strange mix of warmth and sadness knotting inside me.

After a beat, I spoke quietly, "You should take Alice on a holiday."

Both looked surprised—Des's brow furrowed, and Alice's eyes widened.

"Now? Is that really the right time?" Des asked, hesitant. "Maybe we should wait until Alice gets better."

I shook my head, pulling out my phone and quickly sending a small sum of money.

"Some fresh sea air might be just what he needs," I said, a faint smile tugging at my lips.

Alice's eyes glinted knowingly, his smile softening in response.

I met his gaze and returned the smile. "Enjoy your trip."

As I stepped out into the cool night air, the door closing softly behind me, I became aware of a familiar chill at my side.

Simon's presence hovered there, quiet and steady—like a shadow just beyond reach, a cold whisper against my skin.

I didn't turn to look. I didn't need to.

(...)

I slipped back through the front door to the warm, familiar hum of the kitchen.

Alex stood by the stove, expertly stirring a pot, and shot me a sharp glance. "Shay, go drag Rolo down for dinner. He's been holed up in his room all day."

I nodded and made my way to his room, finding Rolo hunched over his scattered notes and arcane instruments. His eyes barely lifted when I entered.

"I got just a glimpse," he murmured without looking up, "of that old man's magic — right before he died."

I raised an eyebrow.

Rolo's fingers danced over his papers, tracing invisible patterns in the air. "I'm trying to recreate it."

"What shocked me most," he continued, voice barely above a whisper, "was that the man wasn't just circulating magic through his core. No, the energy flowed rapidly through his entire body — his magical veins pulsing with power."

His words hung in the air, heavy with possibility and awe.

I cleared my throat. "Dinner's ready."

Rolo finally looked up, eyes bright with determination. "I'll be there in a minute."

I sighed and leaned against the doorframe, glancing down at the cluttered table.

Rolo's notes sprawled across the surface—sketches and arcane symbols intertwined with detailed diagrams of a boy's form. The delicate lines traced veins beneath the boy's skin—an intricate network pulsing with magic, far beyond anything I'd seen before.

I let the silence stretch, absorbing the depth of what Rolo was chasing.

Then, suddenly, Alex's sharp voice sliced through the silence from downstairs:

"Dinner's getting cold! Either of you plan on eating tonight or should I save it for the rats?"

Rolo and I exchanged a look—equal parts guilty and scared. Both of us were suddenly very aware of how scary Alex could be when annoyed.

I swallowed nervously. "Uh… maybe the rats should be on a diet."

Rolo nodded quickly, eyes darting toward the stairs. "Priorities. Definitely priorities."

We practically bolted down the hall.

We gathered around the table, the warm glow of the kitchen casting soft shadows over the familiar clutter of plates and bowls.

Rolo attacked his food with an urgency that made me raise an eyebrow—fork moving almost faster than his eyes could follow. It was clear he was trying to finish quickly, eager to return to his notes and experiments.

I, on the other hand, could barely force down a bite.

Alex noticed immediately. He gave me a concerned look and leaned in. "Shay, what's wrong?"

I opened my mouth to brush it off, to say it was nothing, but the words stuck in my throat. So instead, I just shook my head.

After the meal, I stood abruptly. "Thank you for the food, Alex."

He nodded, eyes still searching mine.

Without another word, I slipped out of the kitchen and headed toward Lil's house, needing space and quiet more than anything else.

Lil opened the door almost before I could knock, her sharp eyes immediately searching my face.

"You look like a ghost," she said softly, stepping aside to let me in.

She didn't ask questions—didn't push. Instead, she moved to the kitchen and set about making cocoa, the gentle clink of mugs and the soft hiss of the stove filling the silence.

When she handed me the steaming cup, I took it gratefully, letting the warmth seep through my fingers and into my chest.

Only after a few slow sips did I speak, voice low and heavy. "I failed again."

Her gaze didn't waver.

"I can change the course of fate… but I can't prolong a life that wasn't meant to be long in the first place."

I looked down at the cocoa, swirling the last drops.

"People are born with limited time. Some have more, some have less, but you can't really add much to it — no matter how much you want to."

Lil's eyes softened with understanding, and she reached out to gently squeeze my hand.

Lil didn't ask who.

She simply settled beside me on the worn sofa, her presence steady and calm. Without a word, she leaned into my shoulder, a quiet offering of comfort in the heavy silence.

I took a slow breath, the weight of the truth pressing down harder than ever.

"Alice will die soon," I said, voice barely above a whisper.

Lil's hand tightened around mine ever so slightly, but she said nothing, letting me carry the words.

"And after him…" I swallowed hard, trying to push the dread away, "…Des will probably die too."

The room seemed to grow colder, shadows stretching longer as the inevitable loomed.

Lil's head tilted, resting lightly against mine—no words needed.

Lil shifted slightly, her voice soft but firm.

"Loss is always hard, Shay. No matter who we are, no matter how prepared we think we are, it cuts deep."

She paused, letting the truth settle between us like a gentle weight.

"All we can do is make the time we have left as beautiful as possible. Fill it with moments that matter."

I nodded slowly, the tightness in my chest easing just a little.

"I sent them on vacation," I said quietly.

"That's good," she said simply. "They deserve that."

"I can't imagine how you must feel right now, Shay. I've never had to lose someone five times over."

She paused, then added gently, "But I want you to know—I'll help however I can."

I swallowed hard, the weight pressing down like a storm inside me.

"Could you... hold me?" I asked, voice barely a whisper.

Without hesitation, Lil nodded.

I crumbled onto her like a child, silent tears slipping free as she wrapped her arms around me.

Her warmth was steady, a refuge in the storm of my grief.