crown of flames

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Chapter 18 Scarlet's POV

Turns out, being soaked in your only uniform while blind isn't cute. At all.

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I stood in the middle of Draven's room—still dripping, still blind, and now officially humiliated.

The bucket was gone. The laughter had mostly faded. But the cold? Still here. I was shivering slightly, my arms clutched around myself, and trying very hard not to cry for the third time in 24 hours.

The worst part?

I had no idea where the bathroom was.

Or towels.

Or soap.

Or literally anything.

And I wasn't about to ask.

Nope. Absolutely not. I'd already sat on Dexter. I wasn't about to add "hey, can someone guide me to a toilet" to the list of tragic Scarlet Stormborne moments.

I cleared my throat. "So... um…"

Silence.

Damian must've left. Devon and Dexter were still nearby, I could feel the air shift when they moved.

Draven was closer though. Always close. Watching without saying much.

He finally broke the silence.

"You need help," he said.

It wasn't a question. Just a statement. Clean and direct.

I opened my mouth to argue.

Closed it.

Then quietly muttered, "...Yes."

He didn't laugh.

Didn't smirk.

He just walked toward me, steps careful, steady.

"I'll show you where the bathroom is," he said simply. "It's down the hall, second door on the right. I'll walk with you."

"Okay," I whispered.

"Devon?"

"Yeah?" Devon said from behind me.

"Dry her uniform."

"With her still in it?"

Draven didn't even flinch. "She's soaked. She needs warmth."

"She's gonna fry."

"I'm right here," I mumbled, red spreading across my face. "You can at least pretend I'm a person."

Devon chuckled. "You're definitely a person. A wet, grumpy, adorable one."

"Don't. Start."

Draven placed a hand very lightly on my back. "Let's go."

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He guided me down the hall — his hand just between my shoulder blades, not pushing, not leading, just anchoring.

I hated how comforting it felt.

I hated how I didn't pull away.

The bathroom door creaked open, warm air brushing my face. Scented soap. Steam from the other side. A towel rack. The sound of a fan humming softly in the ceiling.

"This is you," Draven said. "The sink's directly ahead. Towel is hanging on the wall to your right. Clothes—"

"I don't have any," I muttered. "Just this."

"Devon's working on it."

Right on cue, Devon's voice echoed down the hallway.

"I'm drying it gently! No flame, just heat!"

"Try not to scorch her dignity," I shouted.

"I MAKE NO PROMISES."

Draven waited another beat.

"Do you want me to stay?" he asked. Not in a weird way. Just… serious. Protective.

I shook my head, cheeks burning. "No. I'll figure it out."

He didn't argue.

But before he stepped away, he said something I didn't expect.

"You're allowed to need us, Scarlet."

My heart did something weird.

I said nothing.

Just stood there, half-shivering, half-mortified, and trying to act like I wasn't melting from the inside out.

When the door closed behind him, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

Then I whispered to the mirror I couldn't see—

"…I still want revenge."

(continued) – Scarlet's POV

Bathrooms are supposed to be safe. This one felt like a test.

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The door clicked shut behind Draven, and I was alone.

Kind of.

Mostly.

Sort of.

Okay, I was in a foreign bathroom, dripping in my one and only school uniform, blind, with exactly zero idea where anything was.

Still.

Dignity.

I had to have some left.

"Okay," I muttered to myself, patting the air around me like I was playing Marco Polo with furniture. "Let's just… survive."

The floor tiles were warm. That helped. I shuffled forward slowly until my hand bumped cool porcelain — the sink. Victory. I reached up, felt around, and managed to find the faucet.

One twist—

Full blast freezing.

I yelped, yanked my hand back, and cursed whoever invented plumbing.

"Okay, faucet is evil," I muttered, trying again.

This time, warm. Just enough to feel like I wasn't being punished by the elements anymore.

I leaned in to splash my face—

And hit my nose on the tap.

Because of course I did.

"Ow—okay. That's it. I'm suing this entire room."

Eventually I found the soap, nearly knocked it off the counter, then tried to scrub myself without completely soaking the rest of my clothes.

Which were, by the way, already clinging to me like guilt. The skirt stuck to the backs of my knees, the blouse kept twisting weirdly at the collar, and my tie felt like a damp snake wrapped around my throat.

The real problem?

I couldn't see myself.

Not even a blurry shape in the mirror.

Just darkness. Still.

Heavy and pressing.

Like the world existed just outside my reach, but I wasn't allowed to touch it.

I exhaled slowly.

Let my fingers run over my own face. My cheeks. My chin. My eyelids.

Was I still me?

Would I ever be me again?

Or was this just the beginning of something else — something too big, too ancient, too bright for human eyes?

A knock on the door jolted me out of my spiral.

"Delivery!"

I froze.

"Devon?" I called.

"Yup," he chirped. "I have your freshly steamed Scarlet couture, m'lady."

"Oh my God. Don't make this worse."

"No promises. I'm hanging it on the handle. It's warm. Like bread. Don't sniff it. That'd be weird."

"Too late, now I have to."

"I also added socks. You're welcome."

"You're ridiculous."

"Thank you. I try."

I waited until his footsteps faded before groping for the door handle. The uniform was there — warm, soft, and somehow smelling like cedar and arrogance.

Which was probably just Devon's cologne clinging to the air like ego fog.

I peeled off the damp one carefully, wrapping myself in a towel as I changed. Buttons were hard. Zippers were harder. I may or may not have put the skirt on backward twice before getting it right.

But when I finally stood up — dressed, towel-dried, slightly less damp and slightly more human — I felt a little stronger.

Not because I'd figured everything out.

But because I'd managed something alone.

Even if it was just not drowning in a sink.

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