“Shock,” I repeated back calmly as my heart threatened to pound out of my body. I scanned over Magnus’ prone form, taking into account that greyish hue and clinging sweat. “Pale. Cold. Clammy. Grey tinge to the skin?”

“Ah, you do pay attention to me sometimes!” Killian exclaimed, his ill-timed smile stumbling down the phone line in his tone of voice. “Yes, that’s the one.”

“Piss, fuck, shit, what do I do, Killian?!” Anxiety exploded through me and I sprung to my feet, clicking Killian onto speakerphone and dropping the device onto the mattress, backing away a step.

“Calm down!” Killian commanded over the crackling speaker. “Get his legs raised. If you can elevate the wound, do it.”

“Er, right, right,” I babbled to myself, diving at the other side of the bed and gathering up some pillows. I lifted Magnus’ deadweight legs and shoved the pile of pillows beneath them, propping the limbs up. “I…I can’t elevate the wound from this position.”

“I thought you said it was his arm?”

I stared at the crimson-blotted towel Magnus was loosely holding at his side.

Too loosely to stem the blood, and yet, no fresh blood seeped onto the bedsheets beside him.

“Er…”

“Stella?” Killian pushed, but I ignored him and shuffled back to Magnus’ side, keeping my eyes fixed on the man’s face, flushed with fresh colour as it now was. My fingers brushed over his limp hands.

“Yeah, no, it is, it’s just—” I had reached the end of my lie to Killian as I went to expose Magnus’ lie to me, the edge of the metaphorical paper. There was no more room for me to spin the tale, and all I could do was go backwards and confess that I had the number-one celebrity heartthrob of my life, Magnus-pissing-Claymore, lying on my bed, feigning unconsciousness.

My tentative hand pulled the towel away from Magnus, but I only caught a tiny glimpse of the previously-grievous wound that had sealed unnaturally fast with gunky black-red blood. Magnus’ other hand abruptly clamped down on mine, a strength within his grip that startled me. A scream wobbled in my throat, but I caught it before it could make a fool of me.

“Stella? Stella, what’s happening?” Killian’s rising panic soared past my own falling anxiety. I couldn’t reply. I was trapped, mesmerised as Magnus rolled onto his wounded side without flinching. He coaxed my hand away gently from the blood-soaked towel bundled against him, colour flushing back into his smirking face.

“What the fuuu—?” I dribbled out, bringing a chuckle to Magnus’ lips. He mouthed ‘Hang up’, and then nodded towards my phone with raised eyebrows.

“Stel? Talk to me!” poor Killian pleaded.

I fumbled to pick up the phone, taking him off speaker and bringing his voice to my ear again.

“I’m good, er, all good.” It was as though someone else was tugging my vocal cords in spite of my stunned shock at Magnus’ rapid recovery. “He’s fine. Thanks, Killian.”

“Woah, woah, wait, you just—”

“Th-the ambulance is outside, I can see the lights,” I concocted, getting to my feet and pacing the room, a hand running through my hair and getting stuck in the tangles. “I’ll call you once we’re at the hospital. Thanks for everything, Doc!”

“Oh-okay, but—”

“Gotta go let ‘em in, talk later!”

I hung up, a twist of guilt spiralling up from my stomach and corkscrewing into my heart. I laid the blame at the smug git half-sitting, half-lying on my hotel bed.

Magnus pulled the bloodied towel away and gingerly traced his fingers over the still-visible wound on his torso. The blood had clotted and darkened already, too quickly to be normal.

Three strikes and you’re out, friend, I thought to myself, steeling my resolve even in the face of my idol.

“You need to start talking.” I jabbed an accusatory finger at Magnus, reaching out behind me to grab the chair near the dresser without taking my eyes off the man. I swung the chair around to land in front of me and threw my panic-exhausted body down onto it, slumping into the back of it. “Eating rats? The…eye-trick in the alleyway? And now some Wolverine-style healing-factor thing?”

I gestured wildly at the crusted cut while Magnus sat himself up properly. He winced politely for me and my battered nerves.

“Not…quite,” he groaned, sweat lightly beading across his forehead. For a moment, silence blanketed us, threatening to end our discussion. Magnus, evidently at odds with himself, could not or would not meet my gaze. Eventually, he relinquished, perhaps out of some ill-placed sense of debt towards me: “Look, just…don’t worry about it.”

I couldn’t help it. I slammed my hands over my face, arching my back over the chair.

“Don’t play that game!” I begged, muffled by my own hands. “Don’t. Play. That. Game. You say that knowing I’m gonna say ‘Tell me!’. It’s such a dick move…”

Letting my hands slide from my face, no doubt dragging what was left of my makeup into a clown-like disaster, I flopped forward and watched Magnus squirm. Again, he seemed unwilling to look at me, but the game was over at least.

“It’s complicated,” he moaned, mimicking my previous stance of covering his face with his hands. “God, how’d I fuck it up this badly…?”

I didn’t have time to be insulted at the idea of being said fuck-up that had evidently flown too close to the sun that was Magnus’ secret. With a loud clap Magnus’ hands dropped down to his thighs, a sigh of defeat trailing after like a comet. “—You don’t want to know this. You don’t want to know me.”