There came days where Nuri could no longer get out of bed, could no longer feed himself. His breath became ragged and uneven. There came days where the struggle of living and the indignity of the life in which he was trapped were more than he wanted. There was a family dinner two months into my stay in the City where Dirva and Falynn practically carried him out to the table. He was given a pretense of strength, a suggestion that all they did was aid him, but we all knew he could not have walked on his own. Like always, Nuri sat at the left of Dirva’s father, their bony, spotted hands clasped tight. Like always, Dirva sat on Nuri’s other side, but this time a little closer than usual, and this time he kept a hand protectively on his da’s back. We had not spoken since he’d come to the squat house, but I watched my mentor closely anyway. I felt the sadness radiating off of him in waves, pouring into me. I believe that Dirva knew what Nuri wanted before any other member of the family.

Nuri waited until we’d finished eating. He ate very little himself. His hands shook and his bones ached. He was given bread and a cup of broth, which he drank very slowly and very carefully. The bread sat untouched on a plate before him. He gave Dirva’s father’s hand a squeeze and released it. He cleared his throat softly, and conversation around the table died. “I am done living,” he said.

There was a heavy beat of silence. Falynn was the first to speak. “No, Da, I can help. What is it? The headaches again? You’re dehydrated. Are you not sleeping? I can…”

“I am done,” he said.

The blood drained from Dirva’s father’s face. His mother’s mouth turned to a hard line. “What the fuck does that mean?” she asked.

“You know what it means,” he said.

Dirva’s father left the room. Cadlah and Sorcha followed him out.

Falynn went to follow, too, but Nuri caught his wrist as he passed. “No, Da,” Falynn said.

“Falynn, sit,” said Nuri. Falynn sat in his father’s chair. He stared hard at Nuri, willing him to change his mind, but it was no use. Nuri took Falynn’s hands in his. “I love you. You are my son. I hate that this will hurt you, but I am asking for your help. Give me this last gift: let me choose when and where.”

Falynn ripped his hands away. “No. No! I’m a healer!”

“There is no more healing to be done.”

“No! I won’t have your blood on my hands.”