The door opened quietly, revealing Vell.
Unlike the last time he'd entered, bursting into her room after the assassin's attack, this time his movements were deliberate, almost tentative. The soft click of the latch and his calm presence melted away the tension knotting Sonder's chest.
He didn't carry the same darkness as before—there was no tempestuous anger clinging to him—but instead, he seemed distant, burdened, calm yet distraught.
Without a word, he crossed the room and sat down on Lunt Junior's bed. For a long moment, he simply sat there, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed.
Sonder watched him carefully, then moved to sit beside him. She could see it in the lines of his face, the weight in his posture—something was wrong.
"What's wrong?" she asked softly.
"I am distraught," he replied.
"Why?"
Instead of answering right away, Vell pulled her into his arms, his hand brushing gently through her hair. "Sonder," he murmured, "My little blackbird."
"Have you done something bad?" she asked.
"I have," he admitted after a pause. "But this time… this time it is different. I cannot justify it to myself." He exhaled sharply, the sound almost a sigh. "When you act for yourself, it is your name, your consequences. But what if… what if you act for someone else, knowing they would abhor what you've done?"
Sonder leaned into him, his words sinking into her.
There was something strange in the way he spoke, a mixture of regret and guilt.
She shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes, once so unwavering, were clouded with something she'd never seen in him before: shame.
"What did you do, Vell?" she whispered.
He hesitated, his fingers brushing through her hair once more, as though grounding himself. "I acted for you," he said finally. "But in doing so, I may have acted against you."
Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Against me? How?"
Vell sighed, the weight of his breath heavy with self-reproach. "I returned to my old ways," he said, his voice rough. "The man they feared, the one they told stories about. Justice? A trial? None of it mattered. I acted alone, with no clarity, no thought for anything but my own hands. And now…" He looked down, his hands clenched tightly in his lap.
"Now they'll see you as the villain," Sonder finished for him.
"Yes," he admitted, "and perhaps they're right."