The room smelled like blood, sweat, and everything they never said.
Lilly sat in the far corner, knuckles swollen and stained, gaze locked on the wall like if she blinked, the ghosts would get her. Again.
Sam crouched near the med kit, quiet. Watching her. Not afraid—but aching.
"She's alive," Sam finally said, voice low. "Concussed. Bruised. But breathing."
Lilly didn't respond.
Sam walked over, slowly, carefully, like approaching a wolf with a wound too deep for stitches.
"She had it coming," Lilly muttered, finally. "And she's not done."
"I know," Sam said. "But you are."
Lilly's laugh was dry. "Since when?"
"Since I watched the girl I love nearly lose herself."
Lilly's breath hitched, just slightly.
Sam crouched beside her, brushing a thumb against the dried blood near her jaw. "You don't owe her your soul, Lil. You already gave it away."
"To who?" Lilly whispered.
Sam leaned in, their foreheads touching.
"To me."
For a heartbeat, the world held still. Just them. Just the raw ache of survival and love torn open too fast.
And then—
A groan.
Followed by a cough that sounded like gravel and glass.
Ava.
Sam stood immediately, a steel thread in her spine. Lilly didn't move. Her rage had simmered, but the embers glowed bright.
Ava staggered from the hallway, her face half-shadowed, blood streaking down her temple. One eye nearly swollen shut.
"Didn't know you had it in you," she rasped at Lilly. "Guess I trained you too well."
Sam stepped between them; voice razor-sharp. "Say another word, Ava, and I swear—"
"Oh, relax, princess," Ava spat. "You think you're the first person to try and save her from herself? She's a hurricane. You don't love hurricanes. You survive them."
"You don't know a damn thing about love," Sam snarled. "You just weaponize it."
Lilly rose—slowly, deliberately.
Ava smirked. "There she is. The monster I built."
Sam grabbed Lilly's arm. "No. Don't let her win."
Lilly's eyes met Ava's—and for a second, there was silence.
Ava broke it. "You'll never be free of me, Lilly. You are me."
Lilly's lip curled. "Then maybe it's time I burn the part of me that remembers your name."
The storm hasn't passed. It's only just begun.