Not a stumble. Not a collapse.
Deliberate. Controlled. Like he’s choosing it.
Patricia flickers into view, notebook blazing—then glitches, a blot of ink spreading where no ink should be. Carl appears near my ankle, vibrating too fast, like he’s picking up signals no one else feels.
Mouse’s ears flatten further. His growl wavers.
“Kaia.” Darian’s voice is quiet. Steady. Nothing like the cold precision I remember. “I came because I needed you to hear this. From me.”
A flicker crosses his expression—pain? Confusion? Like something inside him pulls the wrong direction.
I should tell him to leave. Wake the others. Let my shadows tear him apart for daring to kneel like that means something.
But I don’t.
The bond hums low in my chest. Quiet. Constant. Wrong but real. Inescapable.
“I know what I did in the arena.” He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t soften it. “Every choice. I told myself I was protecting academy, the balance—whatever let me sleep at night.” His jaw tightens. “But I wasn’t protecting anything. I was protecting myself. From you. From what you made me feel.”
The words land wrong. Too honest. Too raw.
I want to interrupt—to tell him I don’t care—but something in his voice roots me.
“You deserved someone who stood beside you,” he continues. His hands rest open on his thighs like an offering. “Not someone who studied your shadows like they were a problem to solve instead of—” He stops. Swallows. “Instead of seeing them. Extensions of you. Proof you’re stronger than any of us gave you credit for.”
My throat tightens. I press my palm flat against the ground. Dirt and grass, rough under my fingers.
Bob’s edges soften slightly. Carl drifts closer to Darian—curious now, not defensive.
Walter drifts into view, bobbing lazily. He hovers closer to Darian, pulsing once—bright—like he’s tasting something in the air. Then he drifts to my chest, pulses again. Back to Darian.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness.” Darian’s voice drops lower. Almost too quiet. “I needed to tell the truth. And to kneel here—” A ghost of bitter humor crosses his face. “Without running from it.”
“Get up.”
The words slip out sharp. Defensive.
He doesn’t move.
“Get up, Darian.”
“If I stand too soon,” he says quietly, “it looks like I came here to win. Like this is strategy.” His gaze holds mine. Unflinching. “I didn’t. I came to own it. Every lie. Every betrayal. Every moment I made you doubt yourself.” He pauses. “So I’ll stay here until you tell me what comes next.”
My chest aches. The bond pulses once—faint, echoing his honesty but wrong at the edges—and I fight the pull.
Steve materializes suddenly, thrusting a scroll at Patricia. She takes it without looking away from Darian.
I open my mouth to respond—
Steel flashes in moonlight.
A blade appears at Darian’s throat. Cold. Precise.
Aspen steps from the shadows behind him, silent as death. Ice-blue eyes blazing with controlled fury. The blade doesn’t waver. Neither does his voice.
“Move, and I’ll open your throat before you take your next breath.”
Panic hits—not for him. For what killing him would do to us. To the bonds already stretched thin.
