Over the course of several hours that turned into several days, I learned I could heal from any wound as long as it wasn’t fatal. Broken bones knitted back together and popped into joints they’d been ripped from. Torn flesh stitched back together without the aid of needle and thread, something I hadn’t known was possible and apparently neither had Matthew, who’d stitched many of my wounds in the past. Now I understood why Jasmine had been so surprised by the head wound I’d received that night in the tunnel. Severed veins and nerves reconnected, bringing back sensation to places that had long gone numb.

The process was painful.

Slipping out of consciousness only when it became too much and I needed to escape the burning pins and needles along my limbs as blood flow returned, I was awake for most of the healing. I was awake when Layla sat down beside me with tears streaming from her eyes and told me that Zayne was gone.

A part of me had known that already, and she didn’t need to go into detail. Too much time had already passed. When Wardens died, their bodies went through the same process a human body did, except it happened much faster. Within a day, there’d be only bones left, and it had been many days. Zayne was gone. His laugh and the smile that never failed to cause my stomach and heart to do strange, wonderful things. His wry sense of humor and his kindness that set him apart from everyone I knew. His intelligence and unending loyalty. His fierce protectiveness that had been apparent before we’d been bonded, something that had annoyed me as much as it had strengthened me. His body and bones and beautiful face... All of it gone before I even regained consciousness.

I screamed.

I screamed when I looked around the room and didn’t see his spirit or ghost, stuck in the horrible place of being both relieved and devastated.

I screamed until my voice gave out and my throat was on fire. I screamed until I could no longer make a sound. I screamed until I thought of the senator and finally, truly understood how deep of a cut this kind of pain could make. How it could lead a person to do anything, utterly anything, to bring their loved one back.

I screamed, realizing that my decision to hold him back, to keep him outside, might have led to his death just as much as falling in love with him had, maybe even more. That it had felt wrong, and I should’ve known, should not have tried to convince myself that what was right could feel wrong. I’d never know whether the outcome would’ve been different if he’d gone in with us, or if that would’ve resulted in an earlier death.