SCARS

What the Shadows Took

Calypso turned slowly, lifting her gaze to meet Vi's, her own breath catching in her chest. There Vi was, standing in the half-light, her chest rising and falling hard, a storm of something unspoken churning behind her eyes. Her knuckles were raw and bloodied, fingers curled loosely but ready, as if they hadn't quite unlearned the violence of the last few minutes. Her shirt was torn at the shoulder, a dark smear of dirt tracing down her collarbone, and her hair stuck damply to her forehead. She looked exhausted and relentless all at once, like a soldier fresh from a battle.

Calypso felt something shift within her, a pull, an almost reflexive need to close the distance, to reach out and touch the cut along Vi's collar, the bruise blooming near her jaw. The urge to pull her close and soothe the edges of her anger, to heal what had already hardened, was so fierce it made her own hands tremble. But the way Vi looked down at her stopped her, kept her hands at her sides. There was something in Vi's expression, something caught halfway between confusion and betrayal, and something more, something Calypso didn't have a name for.

"What are you doing?" Vi's voice broke through the heavy silence, a demand more than a question, laced with disbelief that only deepened the lines around her eyes. It was as if Calypso had been caught trespassing somewhere she didn't belong, somewhere she never should've been.

Calypso opened her mouth, her mind scrambling for the right words, for an explanation that might make it all make sense. "Vi, I was... I just... I was helping him, he—"

But Vi cut her off, her voice tight, barely restrained, with an edge that stung. "I told you to leave," she said, her jaw clenched. "I told you to take the others and go."

"I know," Calypso whispered, her voice soft, hesitant, as if trying to lay each word down carefully. "But—"

"I told you to leave," Vi repeated, and this time, the anger was unmistakable, flaring out with a clarity that made Calypso's chest tighten. "And instead of listening, you stayed." She let the words fall hard and heavy, her eyes fixed on Calypso's. "Not only did you stay, but you helped the enemy?"

The sudden sound of a door creaking open sliced through the thick silence, echoing down the alley and slipping into the hollow space between Vi and Calypso. They both looked up, their heads snapping in unison toward the shadowed bend of the alley where footsteps shuffled briefly, then faded away. Vi's eyes darted back, the sharpness returning, bracing against any more unwelcome surprises.

"Let's go," she said, her voice low but urgent. "Before more of them come."

Calypso nodded, her hands lingering by the man's shoulder for just a second longer, her fingers pressing lightly against the thin fabric of his sleeve. She propped him up against the cold wall, letting her touch slip away from him in a careful release, watching as his chest rose and fell in shallow, even breaths.

When she turned, her eyes caught Vi's, and in that instant, the glance that met her was a dark, unfathomable thing, tempered in fire and held together by something that looked like disgust. Vi's gaze moved over her, once, twice, an assessment as cold as stone–judgemental.

Silently, Cal rose and stepped forward, her hand falling at her side, a bare inch from Vi's, close enough to feel the warmth yet farther than she'd ever felt. The walk back through the alley was thick with shadows and unsaid words. Calypso glanced at Vi's face, but Vi's gaze was fixed straight ahead, her jaw set in a line that was as unmoving as it was unforgiving.

Calypso opened her mouth, a fragile, wavering need to bridge the chasm between them, to fill the air with something besides that choked, aching quiet. "Vi, you need to understand—"

"Stop," Vi's voice sliced through the dark, sharp and swift, silencing Calypso before the words could settle in the air. It was not a yell, not a plea—just that one single word, clipped and solid, like a slammed door. And she didn't look at Cal when she said it, her eyes stayed stubbornly fixed on the alley ahead, refusing to even glance sideways.