Calvin’s POV
The room was too quiet.
The steady beeping of the heart monitor beside me was the only sound, reminding me that I was still here. Still breathing. Still alive.
But at what cost?
My body ached with every shallow breath I took, the weight of my injuries pressing down on me. My stomach throbbed where Sherelle’s dagger had sliced through me, the wound barely held together by careful stitches. My limbs were weak, my muscles stiff from a month of lying motionless.
And yet, none of it compared to the pain clawing at my chest as I waited for Franklin to return.
Because soon, I would be face to face with the woman I had wronged so deeply.
Lysaa.
The door creaked open, cutting through the suffocating silence like a blade.
My breath caught.
Franklin stepped inside first, his expression unreadable as he held the door open. And then-
Lysaa entered.
Or rather, she shuffled in, her movements slow and uncertain, her feet carefully feeling the ground beneath her as if she were walking across uncharted territory.
My stomach twisted painfully at the sight of her.
She was ruined.
She had always been small, but now she was fragile, nothing but skin and brittle bones. Given the situation of the Pack, she had probably been starved for goddess knows how long. Her once sleek black hair hung in tangled, matted strands down her back, streaked with dirt and neglect. The tattered rags that barely passed as clothing clung loosely to her malnourished frame, exposing bruises-some old and faded, others fresh and dark.
Scar tissue marred her thin arms, a brutal testament to the suffering she had endured. Her wrists bore angry red marks from shackles that had once bound her too tightly, her fingers trembling slightly as she clutched at Franklin’s sleeve like a lifeline.
But it was her face that destroyed me.
Her eyes-those bright, intelligent, sharp eyes-were gone.
Not closed. Not hidden behind a blindfold.
Open.
Scarred over.
A grotesque, haunting reminder of what I had done.
I had blinded her.
I had destroyed her.
And now, even though I had summoned her here… she couldn’t even see me.
She flinched violently at the sound of my breathing, shrinking back as if I had already raised a hand to strike her.
A sharp pang of guilt sliced through me like a dagger.
I had done this.
I had turned her into this terrified, broken thing standing before me now, trembling in my presence.
I swallowed against the thick lump in my throat.
“Lysaa…” My voice came out hoarse, weak.
She stiffened.
Her breathing quickened, turning shallow and erratic.
And then-
She shook.
From head to toe, her frail body trembled, the grip she had on Franklin’s sleeve tightening so hard her knuckles turned white.
I clenched my fists against the overwhelming wave of self-hatred crashing over me.
She was terrified of me.
Of course she was.
I was the monster who had put her in chains.
I was the monster who had ordered her eyes to be burned with scalding hot metal. I can only imagine how excruciating that must have been.
I’m the same person who had stolen her light, her life, had her imprisoned and tortured, her entire family banished.
And now, even after I had summoned her here, she didn’t know if I had brought her to finish what I had started.
Goddess.
I wanted to be sick.
“I didn’t call you here to punish you,” I rasped, forcing the words out despite the unbearable weight in my chest.
Lysaa didn’t respond.
She only trembled harder.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my hands gripping the sheets beneath me as I fought the urge to reach for her.
She would only recoil.
She should recoil.
“I promise you’re not in trouble.” I tried again, my voice barely above a whisper.
She remained frozen.
Still shaking.
Still afraid.
I hated this.
I hated myself.
Guilt burned through me like acid, searing every nerve in my body.
I had turned her into this.
I had ruined her.
And no matter how much I wished to undo it, to take it all back, I couldn’t.
I couldn’t.
“Lysaa please listen…” I tried once more, my throat tightening painfully.
She cowered.
Goddess, I couldn’t bear this.
I forced myself to sit up despite the pain lancing through my body, the wound in my stomach throbbing in protest.
“I swear on my life,” I choked out, my voice raw, desperate. “I won’t hurt you, no one will. Never again.”
Her breath hitched.
The trembling didn’t stop immediately.
But slowly…
Ever so slowly…
It began to ease.
Not completely.
Not entirely.
But enough for her breathing to even out.
Enough for her hands to loosen ever so slightly from Franklin’s sleeve.
Enough for her to listen.
But she still didn’t speak.
She was waiting.
Waiting to see if I would break my promise.
Waiting to see if I would hurt her.
I exhaled shakily.
And then, quietly-
“I am so, so sorry.”
Lysaa tensed.
I bowed my head, unable to look at her ruined face any longer.
“I know it means nothing now,” I continued, my voice thick. “I know that no apology in the world will change what I did to you. But I am sorry. For all of it. For everything.”
Silence.
Long. Stifling.
And then, finally-
“…Why am I here?”
Her voice was hoarse.
Brittle.
I lifted my head, swallowing past the ache in my throat.
“Because I need your help.”
A sharp, bitter laugh tore past her lips. It sounded so sad, like she was using it to hold back her tears.
“You need my help?”
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see it.
“Yes.”
Lysaa let out another hollow laugh, her head tilting slightly.
“I’d rather you kill me now.”
I winced at the words.
“Lysaa, please-”
“I’d rather die than do anything for you,” she spat, her voice shaking with raw hatred.
I closed my eyes. I deserved that.
But I couldn’t let her refuse.
I forced myself to sit up despite the burning pain in my stomach. “It’s about Kamrynn.”