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4.
The first time Treech saw Lamina, he was eight and they had been put in the same class for the upcoming year. He didn't think much of her at the time, didn't think much of anything at the time truthfully.
It had only been a year since the war, and District 7 was feeling the effects. Lack of people for the workforce, trees plagued by diseases, and most pressingly for an eight year old's world, there weren't many teachers.
That meant that grades had to be combined to make up for it, and the teachers who still worked, well... definitely left something to be desired.
Treech always liked the back of the classroom. He was able to play around with his friends whenever he felt like it and not be close to all the wannabe scholars who chose to sit at the front. Particularly, one of the girls from the lower grade.
She had copper hair, baggy clothes, and a habit of butting into things that didn't need to be butted into. One of those girls who knew she was smart and needed everyone else to know it too.
The other kids weren't mean to her, at least not what Treech would call mean. He had seen much meaner things than a few cruel nicknames and no free space at a lunch table when they most certainly could have made room.
So no, they weren't mean, but they could have been kinder. It wasn't Treech's job though, to defend her, and so he never thought much of it.
Until he did.
Three months into the school year and even an eight year old could tell that Mr. Chloris was not a man meant to be teaching. He came to school at the start of each week with a new topic and would ramble about that topic for the rest of the week, trying desperately to drag it out as long as possible.
Treech just figured he knew what they all knew. That the kids of District 7 only needed basic knowledge to get them by until they were old enough to join the workforce. As far as Treech was concerned, if he could read, write, and do basic math, then he was good to go.
Apparently not everyone felt that way because the red-head at the front of the room always paid rapt attention to whatever Mr. Chloris had brought in for that week and never let a question go unanswered.
The topic for that particular week was poetry, and Treech failed to hide an eye-roll every time he thought about it. Because poetry was going to be so useful. Right. He would be sure to recite a poem if a tree ever asked for it before he chopped it down.
"For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes, Brightly expressive as the twins of Meda—" droned Mr. Chloris.
"Um, excuse me, sir?"
Treech felt the class still around him as the girl three rows ahead of him raised her hand.
Mr. Chloris sighed. "Yes, Lamina?"
Treech couldn't see her face but he watched as she straightened in her seat at the attention.
"I'm sorry but isn't it... isn't it 'the twins of Leda' not Meda?" the girl asked.
Mr. Chloris huffed. "I think I would know the right words for the poem I'm teaching."
Treech's heart twinged in his chest as the girl— Lamina— deflated in her chair. She may have been a tad annoying, but she was sweet at her core.
"She's right, sir," Treech found himself saying, without making the conscious decision to open his mouth.
Wooden desks squeaked as his classmates turned to stare at him. Treech was many things, but a class participator was not one of them. Lamina's red hair whipped the boy sitting behind her in the face when she spun around and Treech fixedly avoided her wide brown eyes, her gaze making him uncomfortable, even then.
If it were socially acceptable for a grown man to glare at an eight year old, Treech was pretty sure Mr. Chloris would have.
"And how," he drawled, "do you figure that Treech?"
He shrugged. "Well if the writing on the board is anything to go by..."
Almost as one, the class turned to look behind Mr. Chloris at the chalkboard, and there were the opening lines of Edgar Allen Poe's 'A Valentine', the poem he had been reciting and— proven by his own handwriting— had gotten wrong.
Mr. Chloris flushed and tried to wrangle the class back to attention as the children giggled at the misstep. Lamina stared at Treech for a moment longer, before turning toward the front and slumping down, arms crossed.
Treech shook his head in disbelief. What an odd girl.
She caught him after class before he was able to fall into step with his friends on their walk home.
"What was that for?" she'd said in lieu of greeting, without any real sort of harshness because Lamina was never harsh.
"What was what?" he asked trying to sidestep her.
Lamina held her place in front of Treech. "Sticking up for me. In class."
He stopped trying to walk away when he realized she wasn't planning on moving. Treech shrugged, tightening his grip on his book bag. "You were right."
"No one cares when I'm right."
The conversation was growing increasingly uncomfortable and Treech was going to lose his friends around the bend if he didn't catch up with them soon.
"Yeah well," he said dumbly, at a loss for words, "Maybe they should."
She didn't say anything to that, just continued to stare curiously at him.
"Right well, I'll see you tomorrow, Lamina," he'd told her, trying to escape. "It's Treech by the way."
Her head nodded vaguely. "Treech."
He waved loosely before racing to where his friends were just turning the corner, Lamina still standing in the street where he'd left her. Odd girl indeed.
3.
Treech was twelve when his friends discovered that, not only could they ask girls out, they could ask them out and not actually mean it. Better yet they could dare each other to ask girls out.
He thought it was unnecessarily cruel, to go up to a girl and say you liked her just to tell her it was a joke after, and there were already far too many unnecessarily cruel things in their world.
Lunchtime was when his friends thought the best time to play their game was. Why they chose that instead of actually enjoying their lunch, Treech didn't know.
"It's your turn, Chip," said Axel who seemed to be the ringleader of this newfound pastime, always telling the boys when it was or wasn't their turn.
Chip, a mousy boy with sandy blonde hair turned bright red. Treech bit into his sandwich and watched with interest as his two friends went back and forth.
Axel held a finger to his chin, making it seem like he was thinking through a very important decision. The other boys waited with bated breath as Axel chose who Chip would have either the fortune or misfortune of asking on a date. Treech almost rolled his eyes at their theatrics.
"Sylvia," Axel claimed finally, a smug smirk on his face.
Chip blanched. Sylvia was a tall girl, much taller than Chip, and was particularly loud and brash.
"Are you kidding?" Chip exclaimed. "She'll pummel me!"
Axel shrugged and faked sympathy. "Rules are rules."
Fir and Anther laughed raucously as they pushed Chip away from the table and towards the one a few feet away from the boys, where most of the girls in their class had gathered. Once they noticed Chip trudging his way towards them, they all huddled together and giggled.
Treech didn't really get girls.
All the boys watched with alarming focus as Chip approached the table. As soon as he was close, the girls' stopped their giggling and adopted a self-important air only twelve year old girls could have. Chip fiddled with his fingers, refusing to look Sylvia in the eye as he attempted to ask her out. Sylvia for her part, held it relatively well together, if one ignored the way the tips of her ears turned red. Her friends shoved into her as their giggling resumed madly once Sylvia shook her head at Chip, turning away after, blush spreading to her cheeks.
Chip all but ran back to their table, the boys laughing loudly at his obvious embarrassment.
"That was awful," Chip informed mopily. Treech patted his back in sympathy, chewing the last of his sandwich.
Axel nodded wisely. "But it must be done." He brightened. "Your turn Leif!"
Leif stopped his laughing, but his brother, Nico, only laughed harder.
"But we've done all the girls!" Leif protested.
Axel shook his head. "Not all."
The boys turned to stare at the one girl who was left. The one who wasn't sitting with the others, but instead was sitting at the base of an old tree, book in hand, lunch forgotten.
Leif turned frantically back. "You can't expect me to ask Lamina on a date."
Treech frowned.
"Why not?" Axel asked as if he didn't know the exact reason why.
"Well cause she— she's Lamina!" Leif exclaimed.
Treech cringed. He and Lamina weren't friends exactly, but they had an understanding, and at times he even found himself seeking out her company. She was wickedly smart, and had a way of making him feel like his problems weren't so big, if only for her intensely positive perspective on life. She was even funny if she thought you were worthy of hearing a joke. He always hated it when their classmates wrote her off the way Leif just had. She was different sure and maybe sometimes she talked about how trees had feelings too, but they just didn't get it.
He also wasn't thrilled at the thought of one of his friends asking her out as a joke. He didn't want her to be a victim of their unnecessary cruelty.
"I'll do it," Treech said before Leif could object even louder and risk Lamina hearing it.
The boys all stared at him in shock, as Treech had said at the start of the game that he had no interest in participating.
"Treech has a crush," Anther sing-songed.
"I do not!" Treech huffed, almost shoving Anther off the bench.
The rest of his friends broke out into laughter and Axel grinned. "Go on then, Treech," Axel taunted. "Go ask out Lamina."
Treech had the thought then that maybe he'd gotten too far in over his head with this one. Still, he picked himself up from the table, pulled an apple from his lunch bag, and made his way toward the red-head.
She didn't look up as he approached and he stood there awkwardly before finally clearing his throat.
"Erm, hi, Lamina," he said, scratching the back of his neck.
She looked up from her book and smiled gently, big brown eyes glinting. "Hi, Treech."
"Can I sit?" he asked.
She nodded, tucking her legs beneath her to make room for him, and went back to her book.
"What're you reading?" Treech wondered, resting his elbows on bent knees, tossing the apple between his hands.
"An old book of my Mother's," Lamina answered. "It's got half the pages ripped out, but I'm making a game of trying to piece together a story that makes sense."
Treech's brow furrowed. "That sounds... interesting."
Lamina laughed. "It's actually quite frustrating, I keep getting it wrong and then getting upset with the book."
Treech smiled crookedly. "I'm sure your ideas are better than whatever is written."
Lamina snorted, her shoulder knocking into his. "I'll say. From what I can piece together, she leaves her passion for the boy she likes."
"Sounds dumb to me," Treech agreed and then held out his hand clumsily. "Do you want this apple?" She stared dubiously at him and he rushed to continue. "It's obnoxiously sweet— the way you like them."
She took the apple, if a tad confusedly, her fingers brushing his palm. "Thank you, Treech."
He nodded, cursing his ability to make everything awkward when it came to her. Lamina ate the apple in silence as Treech looked anywhere but at her, and inevitably made eye contact with his friends. They made motions with their hands to get a move on already.
He cleared his throat, for the second time in their conversation. "So, uh, Lamina," Treech started.
"Yes?"
"Would you, uh, go out with me?" Treech flushed red and hoped that his hat hid most of it.
Lamina hummed, seemingly unphased. "No thank you."
"What?" he asked, baffled. Out of all the answers he expected, flat-out rejection wasn't really one of them.
Her thin eyebrows raised, and she appeared mildly amused. "Is it you asking me out, or the game your friends play?"
Treech flushed even harder, expecting her to be angry, but she just giggled. "Thought so." Then she held up her apple. "You're as red as my apple!"
"Shut up," Treech muttered, pulling his hat down over his eyebrows, ego somewhat bruised.
"Aww, don't take it personally, Treech," Lamina cooed. "I'm sure you'd make a wonderful partner. But I like you much better as my friend."
That was the first time they'd used that word, and Treech found that it eased some of the embarrassment.
2.
Treech was fourteen when he finally convinced Lamina to skip school with him. She had the most boring idea of fun. Things that involved writing and arithmetic and actually sitting in class every weekday. He'd felt like he'd won the lottery when after months of nagging she'd agreed to skip the following Friday with him.
"This better be worth it," she said, arms crossed as he advanced towards the tree they agreed to meet at.
Treech grinned. "It will be."
She appeared unimpressed as she took in the large towels he had tucked underneath his arm.
"You came dressed to swim right?" he asked, examining her copper hair that'd been pulled off her face and her too-large overshirt.
"Yes," she said apprehensively. "When I should be dressed for another day of correcting Chloris."
Treech laughed as he trekked his way through the forest, her following. "I'm sure Chloris will be very grateful for the break. He should get me a gift honestly."
He didn't have to see Lamina to know she had rolled her eyes.
"Maybe if he were right more often, I wouldn't have to spend my time correcting him."
Treech hummed, holding back a branch for her to duck through. "If he were right all the time, where else would you find your daily amusement?"
She turned to stick out her tongue at him as she passed and he grinned even wider. Her footsteps halted when she was faced with what he had been so excited to show her.
The lake was a rare find. One he had stumbled upon while playing hooky one day, and had been trying to come up with a reason to bring her to since.
He stopped short behind her. "What do you think?"
"I think I can't swim," she told him bluntly. "But it is pretty."
"It's not deep," he promised.
Treech stepped around her, setting the towels he was carrying on the shore as she continued to stand warily behind him. She looked unsure as he reached to take off his shirt.
"Come on, Lamina," he said, gentler than before. "You're not gonna drown. We won't go beyond waist-deep if you don't want to." He watched the softening of her expression and continued. "Of course that'll only be like ankle-deep for me but I'll manage." Treech sighed dramatically, as though deeply troubled by the notion he'd be in shallower water than she would. He walked backward into the lake as she huffed, following him whether intentionally or unintentionally.
"You're so dramatic," she told him. "The height difference isn't that much of a difference."
She was right. It wasn't. Probably only three inches, but up until a few months ago, they had been the same height and he was going to rub his newfound height advantage in her face as often as he could.
Lamina piled her shirt on top of his, leaving her in just her undershirt and the water of the lake became especially interesting. She kicked off her boots and toed the surface. The water was chilly at first, but not so cold that you couldn't get used to it.
"Don't be a chicken, Lamina," Treech teased.
She scowled and waded her way in gingerly, careful not to cut her feet on any sharp rocks.
He watched her take in a deep breath once she'd settled safely at waist-deep, her eyes closed as she breathed in the fresh air, the cool water around her, her lungs strong and still, completely at ease. She always thought she couldn't do things she could, that she was weaker than she was. He wished she didn't.
When she opened her eyes, they were bright with joy.
"Isn't so bad right?" he asked, grinning.
She scoffed playfully, still trying to uphold her attitude. "It's alright," she said, nose in the air. "If you like skipping school and jumping into freezing cold water."
"I do," he told her, swimming close. "And apparently you do too."
Lamina eyed him as he got closer. "Back up."
"Why?" His eyes were light with mischief.
"Because I know you," she said matter of factly, backing away.
"Lucky you."
"More like unlucky me."
He scoffed, taking the opportunity to splash her thoroughly and she yelped. She splashed him back and they were locked in an all-out war. He laughed jovially, unable to remember the last time he'd felt so carefree.
"Ok, ok!" he sputtered, hands held up high in surrender. "You win."
She smirked and rung her now dark red hair. "That's what I thought."
"Why do you always have to win?" he grumbled.
"Why do you always have to lose?" she shot back good-naturedly. Then she glared at him as he shook his wet hair at her. He grinned cheekily.
Lamina rolled her eyes. "How'd you find this place anyway?"
Treech's breath caught in his throat. He tried to clear it, but from the way his voice came out raspy, he wasn't successful. "Anther and I found it," he said quietly. "A few months before..."
Lamina swallowed. It was August and Anther died in the Games in July. Lamina was quiet for a moment, before her ever-curious mind got the best of her and she asked, "Do you ever miss him?"
Treech stopped and thought about her question. "Not so much that I miss him," he admitted. "More like I'm hit with his absence a lot." He flicked a leave that had fallen into the lake away from him. "Like when we have a missing player whenever we're playing ball during school or when there's a project he and I would do together and I have to do it by myself."
Lamina nodded. Then, so quietly he barely heard her, she said, "They scare me."
"What does?"
She looked away. "The Games."
Treech almost laughed. "Don't they scare everyone?"
Lamina pulled at the collar of her undershirt and chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah." She shook her head. "Maybe I'm being silly but... it's not the dying I'm afraid of. I know I can't win. I just—" She sighed. "It scares me to think of my Dad having to watch me die."
It almost knocked the breath out of Treech, to think of Lamina dying. To hear her say so bluntly she didn't think she could win.
"Don't say that," he said sharply, without much thought.
She looked at him questioningly. "Say what?"
"That you don't think you can win. I think you could." And he found that he meant it.
Lamina laughed then. "There's no need to lie to me, Treech."
"I'm not lying!" he defended. "I mean it. I think you could win."
"Treech," Lamina said, unamused. "I can't even kill a spider. I take them outside if I find them."
"But you're the smartest person I know," he told her passionately. "You'd figure out some strategy and outlast everyone. I know it. Plus," he added. "You know how to use an axe. You're strong."
"Knowing how to use an axe and using an axe are two different things."
"You always do that," he said, annoyed. "You always knock yourself down. I believe in you, Lamina. I see you. I just wish you could see yourself."
She stared at him and he was almost smug. It wasn't often he rendered Lamina speechless.
"I think now," she said slowly. "If I ever go into the Hunger Games. All I'll be able to think of is that little speech."
Treech laughed. Lamina cracked a smile. "Good," he said. "Because for the record, I don't want to watch you die either."
1.
Treech was sixteen the first time he ever got into a fight.
He doesn't remember much about it, just the why and the after, which, coincidently happen to be the same.
The why is that a couple of boys had been saying not so nice things about Lamina. It was after school when the older kids had been in the courtyard, meandering about, doing anything to keep from heading home.
Treech had been waiting, back against a tree, for Lamina who stayed behind some days to tutor the younger kids, when Axel, Leif, and Fir had decided to make small talk with Treech. The boys weren't as close as they had once been. Those days Treech spent most of his time with Lamina, and the others spent theirs with the rest of their class and booze on the weekends.
"You sure you don't want to stop by this weekend, Treech?" Axel asked. "Nico scored a whole bunch of moonshine off some guy he works with and Eva and Holly promised they'd bring the rest of the girls this time."
Leif grinned. "There'll be plenty of opportunities for all of us if you know what I mean."
Treech held back a grimace and instead chuckled awkwardly. "Right. I'll have to take your word for it."
Axel groaned. "Come on, man, you're so boring now."
Treech laughed. "You guys are the boring ones. You spend every weekend doing the same thing."
"And you don't?" Fir smirked.
Treech felt his laughter dissipate. "What do you mean?"
Fir rolled his eyes. "Please we all know why you spend so much time with that redhead."
The other two watched warily as Treech's smile dropped. Leif started, "Fir, you don't need to—"
"No, no," Fir protested, smirk turning cruel. "Honestly I don't know why you're so secretive about it."
"Fir," Treech warned. "I don't know what you're getting at," he said through clenched teeth, "But you need to stop."
Fir slapped him on the chest, laughing. "Dude, seriously, you're so shy." His eyes lit up. "If it were me we'd be getting all the details."
"Shut up, Fir," Treech growled, standing up straight.
"What?" Fir asked in mock sincerity. "Are you really not getting any? 'Cause if you aren't you wouldn't mind if I took my shot at it, right?"
"Fir, if you so much as—"
Fir grinned. "I hear it's always the weird ones that—"
Treech tackled him to the ground before he could finish his sentence. The two boys grappled on the floor as their classmates gathered around them, endlessly entertained by fighting. Fir grunted, rolling Treech over to punch him in the nose. Blood spewed from his face as he kneed Fir in the stomach, holding him down by the collar of his shirt, reeling back for a punch when someone grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him backward.
Axel and Leif hauled Fir up, holding him tight by the arms as he struggled against them. Treech stumbled back into Lamina, the one who had pulled him off of Fir in the first place. She held his bicep tight as he gained his bearings, head still reeling from the punch.
Fir laughed cruelly, lip split open. "Not so tough now that your girl's around huh, Treech?"
Treech would have launched himself at Fir again if Lamina hadn't shoved him back hard by the chest and placed herself in between the two boys.
"Cut it out," she hissed at him, glaring, before turning a venomous gaze on Fir.
"You done?" she asked coldly. "Or do you have any more stupid remarks you're just itching to spit out? Please, bless us all even more with your ignorance."
Fir grumbled, shaking Axel and Leif off harshly.
Lamina barked a laugh. "Thought so." She grabbed Treech roughly by the arm again, tugging him through the crowd, and didn't let go until he guessed what she deemed was a far enough distance away from Fir so that he didn't go trying anything again. She marched in front of him, Treech following her sullenly down the path and curving with her into her small home.
"Sit," she ordered as they entered the tiny bathroom and he plopped himself down on the side of the tub.
He watched as she tossed her satchel down, bending to look into a small cabinet. She reached in, pulling out a roll of gauze, a washcloth, and what looked to be an antiseptic. Lamina tugged a stool out from the corner, pushing it in front of him and Treech opened his legs, allowing her to slot one of her knees in between his as she sat down. She set the gauze in her lap and twisted open the antiseptic, pouring a dash onto the cloth.
"Hold still," she said and leaned in close.
They sat in silence as she worked to clean up his wounds, dabbing away the blood from his nose. He hissed as the antiseptic stung when she gently rubbed the cloth across a cut on his cheek.
"Sorry," she murmured, breath warm and sweet and fanning against his cheek.
"S'not your fault."
Lamina pursed her lips but said nothing until, "Hold out your hand."
He cringed, hoping she hadn't noticed, but did so anyway. His knuckles seemed to have split open from a throwaway punch. She poured more antiseptic on the cloth and cleaned his knuckles thoroughly before ripping a piece of gauze away with her teeth and fastening it tight around them.
When she was satisfied that he was all bandaged up, she set everything in her lap and sighed.
"What were you thinking, Treech?" she asked in that quiet, gentle way of hers. He said nothing and she continued. "I mean seriously, why would you do that? Aren't you and Fir friends?" He glanced away. "You're lucky I got there before the Peacekeepers or—"
"I know, Lamina," he snapped before immediately regretting it.
Instead of shrinking away like she normally would have, she searched his gaze, as though if she stared long enough into his eyes they'd give her an answer. And maybe they would. Her wide brown gaze never failed to make him feel like she saw straight through him.
"Why did you get into a fight with Fir?" she questioned.
He avoided her stare. "He was talking."
She laughed incredulously. "Talking? Seriously? What could he have possibly been talking about that made you—"
"He was talking about you," Treech interrupted, and from the way she fell quiet and leaned back, he knew she'd gathered that whatever Fir had been saying hadn’t kind.
"Let him talk," is all she responded with, and Treech nearly exploded.
"No, Lamina!" he exclaimed, standing up abruptly, almost knocking her back off the stool. "I wasn't just going to stand there while he said those nasty things about you! I don't get how your entire life you've just let people walk all over you!"
Lamina stared up at him as he breathed heavily.
"Because," she said after a beat. "There are worse things they could do to me."
He knew that was true. Knew the kind of world they lived in. But that didn't mean he had to like it.
"Treech," Lamina sighed, tugging him down by the wrist to sit again. He let her pull him down easily. "I'm very appreciative of you sticking up for me. But—" she smiled ruefully, cocking her head to the side "—you won't always be there to protect me."
"I can try," he muttered sulkily, fiddling with a loose string on her sleeve, thumb tracking over her pulse.
She grinned. "I'd rather if you did that without almost breaking your nose."
He laughed, intertwining their fingers and pulling them close so that his forehead rested against their joined hands. Treech exhaled. "I'm leaving school," he breathed.
He felt Lamina flinch away but held on tight, not letting her go.
"What?" she asked incredulously.
Treech raised his head so that his chin rested on their entwined hands and he could look her in the eyes. "We're struggling," he told her. "After Dad got hurt. Mom said she could handle it but..." He shook his head. "I need to go to work early. I have to leave school."
They both knew what that meant. Once you left school, you were sent to the lumber yard, where they decided which job best fit your skill set. Then you work and it's the only thing you do, so the people you worked with, those were the people you knew.
Long story short, Treech wouldn't be seeing Lamina as easily as he always had.
She nodded slowly. "Ok," she said and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head. "That's ok." She tried to smile. "You'll like it I think. You've always been strong."
If he hadn't been feeling so desperate, he'd have laughed. "It's not the work I'm worried about."
"Yeah?" she asked, reaching out her free hand to rub her knuckles across his bandaged ones. "Then what is it?"
Treech held her eyes. "That I won't be able to see you anymore."
Lamina's breath hitched and her hand stilled. She bit the inside of her cheek. "We'll figure it out."
He had to believe her. If he didn't then he had to focus on the other possibility, the one where he lost her.
Treech nodded. "Ok."
+1
He's seventeen when he watches Lamina die.
When he watches Coral stab her in the back, much the way he had when he'd left her alone. Watches her continue to fight, even as blood stains her vest. Watches her as Coral lands the final blow, shaking Lamina off her trident and over the edge, like she's some common fish stuck on the end and not the best friend Treech has ever had.
He'd justified his betrayal in so many ways since he joined Coral's pack.
It would only be worse for them both if they allied together and then had to turn on each other.
It would be unnecessarily cruel to spend half the games protecting her and the other half fighting her.
They hadn't talked in a year. He doesn't owe her his protection. She understands.
But he knows the truth— and from the way Lamina looks at him before she dies— he thinks she knows too.
That he is a coward.
And ironically, that is the one thing Lamina isn't— wasn't— is a coward.
She was empathetic and sensitive, but she wasn't a coward.
She would have fought at his side til the end if he had let her.
He wants to scream, shout, cry, kill, die. Anything. Anything to make them understand. Understand who Lamina was. That she was kind and smart and compassionate and brave. She liked overly sweet apples. She deserved to grow up. She bandaged his wounds. She made him feel like nothing bad could ever happen. She had a father at home who had just lost his only daughter.
But he didn't. He watches as she is thrown off the beam, the crack of her body against the floor sickening.
Treech takes a step forward. Maybe she's still alive. Maybe somehow she survived both Coral's trident and the fall. Maybe she's alive, and she'll smile at him and forgive him, and he can scoop her up and hold her tight and never let her go again.
He stumbles back when he sees the blood pooling around her.
A year ago, his greatest fear had been to lose her.
Now that it has happened, that he has lost her, all he can think is that nothing was worth watching her die. Not even his life, the one he had protected over hers.
The life he had let her die for, he realizes, is not one he wants. He does not want to know a life without Lamina.
Yet he does, and he will, no matter how long it may be, because she is dead on the floor in front of him.
And he had let her die.