(SASHA)
I have a hazy sensation of being half-carried, half-dragged back up the stairs by my uncle on one side and Tyler on the other, neither of them saying a word, just breathing heavily until they get me back into bed.
Marco is the first one to speak when I open my eyes again and take in the two of them. "Sasha, Sasha, Sasha." he mutters, shaking his head.
Even under the ravages of time and scars, his face bears the same expression it always used to when he cleaned up after me. He spent his whole life doing it, right up until he was ordered him out of the city, and he's still just as disappointed in me. Just as worried.
I want to apologize, but my agony is too intense to do anything except lie there and outlast it.
