[This post is from Gray Miller’s point of view.]
It took him a full two hours to calm Aoife down and coax her into bed. It was easy for him to see how exhausted she was—exhausted by worry, exhausted by the circumstances, exhausted by hating so hard for so long.
She needs to rest, Gray told himself as he gently tucked a blanket over Aoife’s slumbering form. Maybe if she sleeps, she’ll think clearly.
Maybe if she sleeps, we have a prayer of getting her to listen to reason instead of going off on her own after someone she herself has said is dangerous as hell.
“Sweet dreams, Aoife,” he whispered before he quietly slipped out, shutting the door gently so it wouldn’t disturb her, wouldn’t wake her.
I shouldn’t worry about that. She’s sleeping the sleep of the dead. How the hell did we let her push herself that far?
As if any of us had a prayer of stopping it.
Gray squeezed his eyes shut, leaning back against the door for a moment. Aoife was stubborn and he knew that—and he suspected that her brother and her cousins knew it as well if not better than he did. If she hadn’t been stubborn, they wouldn’t be here.
But he was stubborn, too.
Question is, can I out-stubborn her this time?
“I’m going to have to,” he muttered, then straightened. Down the corridor he marched, down the corridor and out into the light. If he was going to stop her, he’d need help—help from everyone willing to give it.
He didn’t know how far they’d have to go to keep her there, to keep her from going after the Hecate, but whatever it took, he was willing to do it.
Somehow, he knew it was the only way he was going to be able to keep her safe and alive.
You could turn this into a different kind of story by having them tie her up….