When he pulls back—just an inch, just enough to breathe—his thumb brushes along my cheekbone, and I realize I’m trembling.
Not from fear.
From relief.
“Finn,” he murmurs. The way he says it—low, careful, like it matters—makes my chest crack open.
I’m staring at him like I’ve forgotten how words work. Like my brain’s been rewired and all I know is the warmth of his hand on my face and the way my magic finally stopped screaming.
“I shouldn’t—” I start.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But Kaia—”
“Isn’t carrying you alone.” His hand is still on my jaw, thumb still tracing small circles that make my thoughts scatter. “Neither am I.”
I shake my head. “She doesn’t—”
“She does.” Malrik’s voice is certain. Absolute. “Remember the first time? In my room? When you kissed me and she watched?”
Heat floods my face. My chaos magic sparks once.
“I saw her, Finn. Her pupils blown wide. The way her breath caught. She wasn’t tolerating it.” His thumb brushes my cheekbone again. “She wanted it. Wants it. Wantsus.”
The words settle somewhere deep. Somewhere I’ve been too afraid to let myself believe.
“You’re sure?” My voice comes out rough.
“I’m sure.”
I exhale slowly. The tension in my chest doesn’t disappear, but it… shifts. Becomes something I can breathe around.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
His mouth curves—just barely. Almost a smile. “Good.”
“Come on,” he says quietly. “We move.”
He bends down, picks up the canteen I dropped earlier, and hands it to me.
I take it. Our fingers brush. My magic doesn’t spiral.
“Everyone ready?” Kaia’s voice cuts through the clearing.
I look toward her automatically. She’s standing near the fire, shadows clustering at her feet, determination etched into every line of her body.
My chest aches. But differently now. Less like drowning. More like longing I can actually name.
Malrik stands beside me, close enough our shoulders almost touch.
“Ready,” he calls back.
I nod. Force my voice to work. “Yeah. Ready.”
