never gonna change ; woodsmen leisure

dust the dust up
off your shoulders
you’ll come round
and be h u m a n again

She left first.

Gasping, and stumbling, and retching — and in one horrible moment, Sophie Fray was forced to face all of her demons. So many dead boys staring back at her, so many words that should have been spoken before it was too late. She was a pretty thing, until she was green and shaking and crying. Until she had to watch a friend die at her feet.

And she was cruel, until she wasn't. "I'm sorry." It was the simplest thing that she could say, pulling her knees up to her chest and knotting a hand in her hair. She was talking to Ikaros, to Absalom, to Silas. She was so sorry. For killing the stranger, and not protecting her partner, and letting her fear leave her ally for dead.

She should have stood on the bridge with him.

She should have pushed him out of the way.

But there was only the smell of smoke now, and rust, and something sour. The memory of his eyes, and the blood, and the way she couldn't bear it. Any of it. And she hated herself for not looking back for Beck, to see if he was following her into the darkness. She wouldn't have blamed him if he went the opposite direction, but she was still grateful to hear the footsteps behind her.

She knew them.

And she understood what it meant when the leaves rustled not once, but twice — she was smart enough to know that the dead boy was behind her, too; lying in the grass, with her last ally staring down at him. She refused to turn around, but the tears kept falling. She cried with Beck when he started to sob, and the world was loud and silent all at once.

They were breaking for different reasons, and for the same. They were breaking together. It felt like an eternity before he spoke, before she sucked in a raspy breath and forced herself to peer over her shoulder, cautiously. "It's just us, isn't it?" But she could see Silas' boots. His long legs. He was right there.

"Yeah. Just me and you."

When he said he would protect her, she couldn't stop herself from laughing. She didn't mean it to be harsh, or cold, but the sound was raw and honest and sharp. She had gone into this seeking a guardian, someone to do all the dirty work for her and keep her hands clean — this was a game to her, it was a game to their society. She was only just beginning to realize that all of it was rigged.

"I want to make it to the end, too." There was something different about her voice, older and softer than it had ever been. She did not say this to be vain, or because she was too stubborn to see the dangers. They were all she could see now. But she wanted to survive this, to walk up to her mother and slap her across her face. To tear down all the silk and the roses and the pretty things in her room. The things that made her this way.

Soft, and prideful, and ignorant.

This was her learning point. She was paying attention now.

"I'll keep you safe, too.
We're in this together."

She shifted, twisting her torso to face Beck — and the trees — and Silas, too. And she kept herself steady, for a moment. As steady as she could allow. "He was—" but she trailed off, struggling to find her words. There was so much she could say. It was all a whisper now. "He would have told me to shut up, Princess."

So she was quiet for him, and for herself, and for Beck, and the trees.

It was a kind of healing. It was enough.