My gaze went to Trent, standing by the window, his back to us.

“Yes,” Ivy said, and I jumped when she gathered my blankets and pulled them up around me, hiding my arms. They were pink, as if I had a sunburn. Ivy and Jenks looked okay, but Trent was a mess. Bis looked kind of gaunt, too. I was afraid to look in a mirror. I had been bleeding from my pores. And Trent had saved me. Maybe twice. Maybe three times.

Seeing my worry, Ivy started to drift back.

“See you around, Rache,” Jenks said, humming loudly as Ivy gave me a last touch on the shoulder and walked out, her boots clattering confidently on the tile. I remembered hearing them in my dreams, their cadence frightened and hesitant. The noise from the hall grew loud, then soft, then silent.

My eyes went to my band of charmed silver, rising to find Trent when the memory of that kiss made my face warm—until my gaze dropped to his cast, then rose to take in his hand. He was missing two fingers. I was missing three days.

“Thank you,” I whispered, but what I wanted to say was, what happened?

Trent’s silhouette stiffened, his back still to me. “You said that,” he said softly.

I tried to shift my weight farther up the pillow, and the blanket that Ivy had tucked around me fell down. “I’m sorry for slapping you,” I added.

Still he didn’t turn. “You said that, too.”

His voice was low and soft, and I remembered him singing to me in words I didn’t understand, holding my soul together. Grimacing, I tried again. “Uh, you’re a good kisser. It was nice.”

His bandaged hand shifted behind his back as he turned to me, wonder in his expression. “Is that why you asked me to stay?”

I managed a thin smile. “No, but I figured you’d turn around if I said it.” He frowned, his thoughts somewhere else, and I added, “You’re supposed to say I’m a good kisser, too.”

At that, he chuckled, but his smile faded fast. Awkward, he moved to an empty chair, one not as close to me as Ivy’s was, but here nevertheless. His eyes flicked to Bis as he sat down, and then a heavy sigh escaped him, a world of hurt in the sound. “You want to know what happened,” he said flatly, more of a statement than a question.

I fingered the band of braided silver around my wrist. It was heavy, more substantial than the one I’d had on in Alcatraz. A faint tingling came from it, not ley line in origin. Wild, elven magic. I flushed again, remembering the kiss, remembering letting his magic flow through me, kindling my chi back to life.

My gaze went to Bis, wishing he would wake up. He looked so sad up there, holding that bottle that had once held my soul. “I remember you singing my soul into that bottle,” I said. “I don’t remember you being hurt.”