Blocking the corridor like a territorial animal.
Pathetic.
The sound of footsteps makes me go still. Light, familiar, accompanied by the soft whisper of Ether that always announces her presence. I should move. Should pretend I was just passing through.
Instead, I plant myself more firmly in the center of the hallway.
She rounds the corner and nearly walks into me, pulling up short with surprise that quickly shifts to wariness.
"You're blocking the hallway," she says.
The simple observation carries an edge that wasn't there before. Good. She's learning not to back down.
"You've been gone a long time."
The words come out more accusatory than I intended. More possessive. I watch her shoulders stiffen, see the exact moment her defenses go up.
"I was walking. Helping people."
With him.The thought burns through me before I can stop it. Because I know she wasn't alone today. Stellan mentioned seeing her with Jace this morning, and the scent of unfamiliar magic still clings to her hoodie.
Male magic. Not one of theirs.
"Helping." I let the word carry all my skepticism. "They'd kneel if you asked them to."
Her green eyes flash. "I didn't ask them to."
"No. But you didn't stop them either."
It's cruel, and I know it. But watching her flinch feels better than acknowledging the real reason I'm standing here like a jealous fool.
"Should I have?" Her voice sharpens, gains strength. "Should I tell them not to be grateful? Not to hope for something better?"
The fire in her tone does something to my chest. Makes me want to push harder, see how bright she can burn.
But then she hits me where I'm not prepared for it.
"You disappeared," she says suddenly. "After the crowd. After they all started looking at the others like... and then you were just gone."
The accusation lands and I feel like I'm gasping for air. I remember that moment—the Council summons hitting me like a brand beneath my ribs, yanking me away from her right when the attention on the others was making everything complicated.
"The Council summoned me," I say carefully.
"Of course they did." Bitterness, low and familiar. "Right when things got difficult."
I don't answer. Can't explain that leaving her that day felt like choosing duty over something I was only beginning to understand I wanted.
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
I hesitate, almost looking pained. Because how do I explain centuries of conditioning? How do I tell her that every instinct I have says to protect the mission, serve the Council, maintain control—but all of that crumbles when she looks at me like I matter?
She flinches at my silence, and I hate myself for it.
"No," she says quietly. "I suppose I wouldn't."
The admission in her voice—hurt, confusion, something that might be disappointment—makes my carefully constructed walls crack.
