Too forward.
Can we speak for a moment?
Too formal.
Garden? Outside? Please?
Too pathetic.
I settle on the worst version of them all, because it’s the only one that will actually come out of my mouth.
The door opens and she steps into the hallway with Torric at her side, his hand resting on the small of her back. The sight of it twists something in my chest that I refuse to examine.
Her shadows curl around her ankles, and I catch Bob watching me from her shoulder. His edges aren’t sharp anymore — not like they were in the beginning — but he’s not exactly rolling out the welcome mat either.
Fair enough.
“Hey, Kaia?” My voice cracks like I’m fourteen. Fantastic start. “Can we… talk? For a minute? In the garden?”
Torric’s eyes narrow, heat flickering in his gaze. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t challenge.
Kaia blinks up at me, and for a second I forget how to breathe. Violet. Her eyes are violet. I spent months in that cell trying to remember, and now I can’t look away.
Kieran appears from somewhere — of course he does — and gives me a single, slow nod.
It’s ready.
Kaia hesitates. Just a breath.
Then she turns to Torric, touches his arm, and says something too quiet for me to hear. He nods once, presses a kiss to her temple, and walks away.
She follows me.
We walk around the side of the house in silence.
I’m hyper-aware of everything. Her footsteps syncing with mine. The soft rustle of her shadows. The way the bond hums between us — not wrong anymore, just… there. Waiting.
Mouse pads along at her heels, tail swishing. He looks up at me once with an expression that clearly saysI’m watching you.
I don’t blame him.
Patricia drifts near Kaia’s shoulder, notebook flickering faintly. Finnick is nowhere to be seen, which probably means he’s about to drop out of a tree and scare the hell out of me.
I try to speak once. Fail.
Kaia doesn’t push. She just walks beside me, letting me be nervous, and somehow that makes it worse.
She’s going to hate this. I shouldn’t have tried.
The corrupted magic flickers faintly around the garden corner — tiny lights leaking into view.
Too late to turn back now.
We round the corner, and the lights drift up to meet us.
Dark spheres float lazily through the air, each one carrying a small point of soft light inside. Like stars trapped in ink. They bob gently around the garden, casting shifting patterns across the plants and stones.
Not quite right. Not quite wrong.
