Cassian finally moves, stepping closer, his hand brushing against mine as we turn toward the store. He doesn’t take it. That simple touch is enough to steady me.
We buy what we came for—blankets, canned food, fishing line, a new lantern, batteries, salt. The man behind the counter never speaks to us directly. He just rings us up, eyes darting to the Seal-shaped imprint on Cassian’s coat pocket, fingers moving faster than necessary. When he hands over the bag, his hands are shaking.
We don’t linger. We walk back through the village without speaking, the wind curling around our legs like a warning.
When we reach the edge of the trees again, where the forest begins to climb back toward the hills, Cassian stops. I turn, expecting him to keep moving, but he’s staring out over the frozen bay, jaw tight, eyes distant.
“They were right,” he says after a long stretch of silence. “I did tear that village apart.”
I shake my head before he can say more. “You were provoked. Betrayed. Weaponized.”
“That doesn’t change what I did,” he replies, his voice low, like he’s talking to ghosts. “Doesn’t bring back the lives I ended. Doesn’t give their families peace.”
“No,” I say, stepping close and wrapping my arms around his waist without asking. “But you’re not running anymore. You’re not hiding. That matters.”
He looks down at me, and there’s something hollow in his expression at first. Something fragile. But then it shifts, softens. He cups my cheek, fingers calloused and warm, his thumb brushing a stray curl back from my face.
“You’re the only one who ever chose me,” he says, voice rough. “Not because you had to. Not because you were told. Just because you wanted to.”
I nod, leaning into his touch. “That’s exactly why it counts.”
He presses his forehead to mine, breath warm against my lips, and for a moment the world disappears, reduced to the space between us and the weight of what we’re becoming.
And when we step back into the trees, I know we’re not alone anymore.
We’re not fugitives or myths.
We’re each other’s truth.
21
CASSIAN
The trees still smell like frost and old pine smoke when the wind changes. That’s the first thing I notice. Not the shift in temperature, not the way the fire flickers low in the stone ring, not even the sudden hush that spreads through the forest like something holding its breath—but the smell. A clean, sharp scent beneath the wood and ash. Wild. Alive. Familiar.
I rise from where I’ve been stacking the last of the fishing supplies near the shelter and scan the edge of the clearing. Angie’s beside the fire, legs tucked under her, scribbling in that weather-beaten notebook she still carries like it holds more truth than the world ever gave her. She hasn’t looked up yet, but her spine stiffens, head cocking slightly, senses catching what I’ve already recognized.
Mary’s close.
I take a slow breath, plant my feet, and wait.
The trees part like they know her, branches shifting just enough to reveal the slender figure cloaked in black, silver-streaked hair pulled into a braid that falls over one shoulder, boots caked in snow and ice like she’s been walking since the last moon rose. Her presence is quiet, coiled, not loudor confrontational—but it’s not meant to be comforting either. Mary doesn’t come to soothe. She comes to move things.
She steps into the firelight, and Angie stands. Just like that. Like something in Mary’s gaze demands it. She’s not threatening. Not loud. But she’s the kind of woman who was raised to command the wild and the wise in equal measure, and she wears that truth like skin.
“You took long enough,” I say, voice low.
Mary’s lips curve slightly, but it isn’t amusement. More like recognition. “I waited until you were ready to listen.”
Her eyes flick to Angie and linger longer than I want them to. Not hostile. Just observant. Measured.
I stay between them, not because I don’t trust Mary, but because I know what her words can do when they land wrong. She’s not here to hurt. But she is here to judge. And if I know her, she’ll speak plainly no matter who it cuts.
“You’re not hiding anymore,” she says after a beat, gaze sliding back to mine. “Good.”
“I wasn’t hiding,” I reply, steady. “I was surviving.”
“And now?”
