11
CASSIAN
The fire’s burned low again. Just embers now, glowing deep like coals at the bottom of a forge, shadows stretching long across the cabin walls. I should put more wood on, get the heat back up before the cold settles into the floor and creeps into the bones, but I stay where I am, slouched in the chair near the hearth, watching the light flicker over her as she sleeps.
She curled up on the bench a few hours ago, boots still on, jacket half-unzipped, one hand tucked under her cheek like she never meant to fall asleep but didn’t have the strength to fight it. Her breath moves slow and steady, chest rising under the quilt she dragged over herself, lips slightly parted. There’s a line between her brows like her dreams aren’t kind tonight, like maybe her mind won’t stop working even when her body’s shut down.
I sit in silence and let the past crawl out of its cage.
It’s been scratching at the door ever since we crossed that last ridge, ever since I felt the earth shift under my boots and knew we were past the point of no return. When she put her hand on me tonight, warm and certain while I bled all over the floor like it was nothing, something cracked. I could feel it, like a fault linegroaning deep underground. And now that it’s split open, I can’t push it back in.
I don’t notice she’s awake until she stirs, a soft sigh escaping as she shifts, eyes fluttering open. For a second, she’s disoriented, scanning the room like she forgot where she was. Then she sees me, and her shoulders ease a little.
“You didn’t sleep,” she says, voice low, rough with sleep.
“I don’t sleep much.”
She sits up slowly, rubbing at her neck. Her curls are wild from the pillow, and she’s got that soft, sleepy frown that makes her look young. Too young to be here in this place, wrapped up in my sins. But she’s here anyway, and I’m the one who let her stay.
“You hurting?” she asks, glancing toward my side.
“It stopped bleeding.”
“Didn’t ask about the blood.”
I don’t answer. I shift forward, elbows on my knees, hands clasped together in front of me. The bandages she wrapped around me hold firm, and the wound's already sealing, but that’s not the ache keeping me upright when I should be resting.
She doesn’t press. Just waits. That’s one of the things I don’t really know how to handle about her. The waiting. The patience. Most people fill silence like it’s a wound they have to cover, but she lets it breathe.
“I need you to hear something,” I say finally, voice low and sharp like gravel underfoot. “And I need you to hear all of it before you say anything.”
Her back straightens. She nods once.
“There was a village,” I start. “Small place, old blood. Tucked in the eastern fjords, right up against the black ice cliffs. I stayed with them after I first changed. Thought if I kept moving, kept to the outer lands, I’d avoid hurting anyone. But I was wrong.”
I stare at the fire. I don’t look at her. Not yet.
“There were rules. Oaths. The ones like me—we lived by them. Don’t shift around humans. Don’t leave blood on sacred ground. And never, never lose control in a bonded zone.”
I exhale through my nose, slow and rough.
“But I broke all three.”
She doesn’t speak. I feel her watching, but she stays still.
“There was a hunter,” I continue. “Name was Halvor. Big man, quiet, kept to himself. He knew what I was, but never said anything. One night he came to me, said a trader had gone missing, asked me to help track him. I should’ve known it was bait. I should’ve smelled it on him. But I went.”
My jaw tightens. The memory’s a blade, turning slow in my gut.
“They’d set a trap. Cages laced with silver, snares designed to snap bone, not kill outright. They’d done their research. The moment I shifted, they sprung it. And I lost control.”
The cabin feels smaller now. The air heavier.
“I don’t remember all of it. Just flashes. The smell of burning fur. Screams. Blood on the snow that steamed when it hit the ground. When I came back to myself, half the village was gone. Halvor’s neck was broken. There were claw marks on the chapel doors.”
I close my eyes.
“They said it was a massacre. That I betrayed the oath. That I’d gone feral.”
