Stricken to her marrow with fear over the vision he'd seen in her eyes on the terrible morning she'd mistakenly believed had been so perfect.
Mira hung her head, running another basin of cold water for the next round of washing.
For what wasn't the first time, she wished she'd been born without her gift. Her cursed ability, which brought anguish to nearly everyone who had the misfortune of glimpsing her unprotected gaze. She'd never known if her eyes would tell her own future too. She'd never had the courage to test it.
Now she wondered if she should try.
Would she see the same thing Kellan did?
Mira submerged a couple more blood-drenched towels into the water and watched as the crystalline liquid turned deep, murky red.
If she stared long enough into her own naked-eyed reflection, could she deplete her gift's power for good? She was tempted to find out, never mind that her eyesight died a little every time she exercised her seer's vision. She didn't care about that. Better she blind herself than risk delivering any more pain to someone else with her terrible ability.
She found her face in the dark water that filled the sink. Pale, weary lavender eyes stared back at her. The pain she felt was stamped all over her, worry bracketing her mouth and bruising the delicate skin beneath her lower lashes.
She heard a strangled moan and didn't realize it was coming from her own throat until the haggard young woman in the bloodred reflection opened her mouth on a sob.
The stained water rippled with her ragged exhalation, shattering her image into a hundred wavering pieces.
It took a few minutes to collect herself, time Mira used to finish the washing. She hung the wet towels on racks that contained other articles of laundered clothing. Another scrub of her hands still didn't remove the stains that rode under her fingernails and deep in her cuticles. For that, she'd need a good soak and plenty of soap.
Later, she promised herself, drying her hands and then stepping outside to the bunker's main corridor. Once she was there, she realized she didn't really know where to go.
She couldn't bring herself to go to Kellan's quarters to sit and wait for him. And she knew it wasn't her place to intrude on discussions or activities taking place between him and his diminished crew. Mira started walking, and soon found herself stepping past Candice's room.
She glanced in only briefly, but it was enough to notice that the young woman was awake, lying in her bed on her back. Her injured leg was bent at the knee and elevated with a mound of pillows and folded blankets, most of which had at some point toppled off to the side. She was trying to reach for them, struggling helplessly.
Mira blew out a sigh and took a reluctant step inside. "Here, let me help you with that."
"Thanks." Candice settled back in a slump, watching as Mira straightened the mess and carefully placed the restored mound under Candice's leg.
Mira glanced up. "How's that?"
"Better." She was still as pale as the sheets that covered her, little color in her lips, which curved into a small smile. "Will you bring me a sip of water, please?"
"Sure." Mira grabbed the cup and straw from the rickety nightstand beside the bed and held the drink while Candice sucked weakly. "How are you feeling?"
"Good." She nodded for Mira to set the cup down. "Doc says I'm going to make it. No walking for a week or so, and I'll have to take things slow for a while."
"But you're alive," Mira pointed out, and she felt genuinely glad about it.
"Yeah. Doc's the best. He's a good man." Candice was looking past Mira now, her jet-black eyebrows knitting into a small frown. "Where's everyone else?"
"They're around," Mira said. "There were things that needed to be done. Things for Chaz . . ."
She said it gently, not wanting to upset Candice. But the woman's hazel eyes went a darker shade of green as tears welled up in them. "Have they already buried him?"
"Not yet. I heard them talking about taking care of that later tonight. They want to do right by him. I heard them say his life deserves a worthy acknowledgment."
"Bowman," Candice said, smiling again, bigger than before. "That sounds like something he would say."
Mira stared, neither acknowledging nor denying it. But it had been he who'd said the words. It had been he who'd carried Chaz's lifeless body out of the cell and into a private chamber somewhere deep in the bunker. It had been he who'd informed the others that he wanted to perform a burial worthy of the warrior who'd served with honor and had fallen too soon.
Candice's eyes were locked on Mira in soft understanding. "Bowman's a good man too. I have a feeling you know that better than any of us."
Mira started to shake her head, but the denial wouldn't come. Instead she murmured, "It was a long time ago."
Candice's expression softened even more. "I don't need to know what he was called then, but I know it wasn't Bowman. I knew that from the minute he gave me the lie, when he finally woke up after two months of watching over him, unsure if he'd ever open his eyes, let alone speak. I didn't need to know his real name then either, or what he'd done that put him in the middle of a war zone."