Evaline:
I had patched Rowan up more times than I could count since the term began. Every time he slipped back into our dorm late at night, bruised and cut from whatever it was he did when he disappeared, I took care of his wounds.
I never asked him questions. I told myself it wasn’t my business. I told myself he didn’t owe me an explanation. But tonight... tonight was different.
The moment I saw his injuries, I knew this wasn’t one of his usual nights. His body was trembling - not just from the cold, but from the sheer weight of pain he was trying to swallow.
"We need to get you to the infirmary. Now," I blurted, jumping to my feet before I could think twice.
But before I could take a step, his hand shot out and wrapped around my wrist. His grip was weak but firm enough to stop me.
I turned to him, startled. "Rowan, what are you-?"
And then it hit me.
If I took him to the infirmary, if anyone saw him like this... they would know. They would find out he had been sneaking out almost every other night, breaking one of the strictest rules of the Academy. They would demand explanations he couldn’t give. And even if by some miracle he managed to lie his way through, the teachers weren’t fools. They would punish him, maybe even expel him.
And deep down, a part of me knew... whatever Rowan was involved in, it wasn’t something the Academy could know about.
I exhaled shakily and gently pulled my wrist free from his grasp. "Fine. No infirmary," I muttered, my voice heavy with reluctant acceptance.
His eyes softened slightly, though he said nothing.
Suppressing the tremor in my hands, I walked over to the small cupboard by the closet and retrieved the first aid kit I had assembled just for him months ago when I noticed how often he returned with injuries - a cut here, a bruise there.
I sat beside him on the bed and opened the box. I didn’t even realize my hands were trembling until Rowan reached out and his cold hand curled lightly over mine, steadying me.
I froze, meeting his icy-blue eyes in the dim glow of the lamp. There was no teasing in them tonight, no usual air of mystery. Just exhaustion. And something else I couldn’t quite place.
I drew in a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. "Alright. Let’s do this," I whispered more to myself than him.
The room was silent except for the sound of my breathing and the faint hiss of wind against the balcony glass as I cleaned his wounds one by one. I started with the smaller cuts before moving to the gash on his side. The sight of it made my heart clench painfully - it was deep, angry, and bleeding far too much.
Please be okay, Rowan. Please, please, please.
The words kept repeating in my head like a mantra. I couldn’t speak them aloud, but I willed them into the universe with everything in me.
I pressed a cotton pad soaked in medicine against the gash, while my other hand fumbled through the box for a large bandage. My eyes blurred for a second - whether from panic or the sting of tears, I wasn’t sure.
And then I heard him sucking in a sharp breath.
I froze. My head snapped up while my panic spiked again. "What is it? Did I hurt you?"
But he just shook his head faintly. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "No... it’s just... your hand. It feels... warm. Different."
I blinked at him in confusion, then glanced down at my hand. The one pressing the cotton against his wound.
Warm?
Slowly, I lifted it away.
And the world seemed to tilt sideways.
The gash... his horrible, bleeding wound... was gone.
It completely vanished as if it was never there to begin with. Not stitched. Not scarred. Just... gone. The skin on his side was smooth, pale, and unbroken, as though it had never been cut open in the first place. The blood that had soaked his shirt was still there, the medicine still staining his skin, but the wound itself... had vanished.
My breath hitched loudly. "W-what... just happened?"
Rowan followed my gaze downward, and when he saw it for himself, his entire body stilled. His expression, usually unreadable, cracked with shock. He gingerly touched his own side, running his fingers over the flawless skin.
"Impossible..." he whispered.
But I wasn’t listening. My heart was hammering in my chest, my mind reeling. My hands started shaking violently now, and I had to clutch them together to keep from falling apart.
I healed him.
I healed him.
No, no, that wasn’t possible. I wasn’t a healer. I wasn’t anything special. I didn’t even have a wolf. My family made sure I never forgot how... ordinary I was. How weak.
So how in the world had I just erased a wound that should have taken hours, if not days, to recover from?
I stared at my trembling hands as though they belonged to someone else.
Rowan’s voice pulled me back. "Eva," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made me shiver. "What did you do?"
"I-I don’t know!" The words spilled out, breathless. "I didn’t do anything - I just - I was holding the cotton, and then-" My voice cracked, panic swelling inside me. "Rowan, this... this shouldn’t be happening. I’m not-"
But I couldn’t finish the sentence.
Because what was I supposed to say? I’m not special? That had always been my truth. My curse. But now... maybe it wasn’t.
He reached out to grab my trembling hands and gave them a light squeeze. But he didn’t speak.
We sat in silence, the air between us thick with confusion and unspoken questions.
I wanted to run, to deny what I had just witnessed. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his side - smooth, flawless, whole.
And the only thing I could think was...
What am I?