Chapter 6

The guards hesitate, exchanging wary looks.

"What are you waiting for?" Shawn's voice is sharp. "If anything happens to her, you'll answer for it."

They reluctantly take my leg, trembling as they draw out the venom. I watch Shawn, focused on Quinn, and a bitter smile tugs at my lips.

Even in life-or-death moments, he draws the line so clearly.

The healer rushes in with one antidote pill, saying another needs to be mixed on the spot. "Give it to Quinn," Shawn says without hesitation.

He turns to me, voice flat. "Hold on a bit longer."

My body shakes, venom still coursing through me, pain like fire in my veins. I bite my lip until blood fills my mouth, then pass out.

I wake the next evening, the poison gone but the room empty except for a villa maid. "You're awake!" she says, offering warm water. "You were out all day."

My voice is hoarse. "Where's Shawn?"

Her face stiffens. "He's… with Quinn."

I close my eyes, saying nothing. Outside, dusk settles, the mountain wind howling like my frozen heart.

Over the next few days, we stay at the villa to heal. My wounds mend, but Shawn never sets foot in my room. From my window, I catch glimpses of him strolling with Quinn or feeding her medicine, his tenderness stabbing at my eyes.

But I don't care anymore.

When we prepare to return to Belmor Town, a guard hurries in. "Shawn, a plague's hit the pack. The gates are sealed. We can't go back."

Shawn frowns, then nods. "Fine. We stay here. No one leaves without my say."

My fingers pause. I remember this plague from my last life—deadly, relentless. I'm not about to risk it.

But that evening, as I feed fish by the pond, I spot Quinn sneaking back through the rear gate, arms full of goods, her maid trailing behind.

"Where were you?" I demand.

Quinn brushes me off. "Got bored. Went for a walk."

"There's a plague out there, and you're sneaking around? If you get sick—"

"I'm fine!" she snaps, shoving past me. "Mind your own business."

Her back vanishes, but unease settles in my gut.

Sure enough, that night, fever grips me, my body shivering, throat burning like fire. I curl up in bed, hearing rushed footsteps outside.

The door slams open. Shawn storms in, yanking me from the sheets. "The pack's in a plague, and you sneak out? Now Quinn's sick because of you!"

I try to explain—Quinn went out, not me, and she infected me—but my throat's too raw to speak.

He takes my silence as guilt, dragging me to Quinn's room and throwing me before the healer. "You said the plague cure needs a test subject?" he says coldly. "Use her."

I look up, disbelieving, into eyes that once haunted my dreams. Now they're just ice.

I want to scream, to fight, but my body's too weak to move.

The healer hesitates. "The process is brutal. She might—"

"Do it," Shawn cuts in. "Quinn's in agony."

The trials are hell. Each dose sends spasms through me, my insides burning, blood spilling from my lips, staining my clothes.

Shawn sometimes looks uneasy, but one moan from Quinn, and he's barking at the healer to up the dose.

I lie on the floor, soaked in cold sweat, tears mixing with blood.

Shawn, I think, each syllable dripping with pain. If you ever learn the truth, I hope it destroys you, like this is destroying me.