“Maybe,” I said. “But I know how to tread water.”
The tension between us coiled tight. Fenrir padded into the hall, silent but watchful, his eyes flicking between us. Kaelith didn’t so much as glance at him.
“You don’t understand what you’re risking,” he said finally.
“I understand perfectly.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re mortal. You don’t belong here.”
“Do you think I asked to come here?” I huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “I had no choice.”
“Yet here you are,” he said, a cold laugh barely escaping. “Defying a Court that could unmake you with a thought. Perhaps it’s not fear you lack but wisdom.”
I lifted my chin. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
That stopped him. His eyes darkened.
“I should have left you in Hollowmere,” he said.
“But you didn’t,” I whispered.
His hand twitched at his side—small, involuntary. A flicker of frostlight pulsed along the seam of his glove before vanishing.
“Go back to your chambers,” he said finally, voice low and dangerous in how soft it had become. “Before I forget why I brought you here.”
I took a step forward instead, jabbing my finger against his chest. “I think you already have.”
He looked at me then—really looked.
The corridor narrowed there—one of those stretches where the walls curved inward, lined with frostglass that reflected every movement twice. His reflection towered behind me in the mirrored wall, sharp and pale, like a ghost of the man who hadn’t yet decided what to do.
“I don’t owe you answers,” Kaelith said, but it came out quieter than he meant.
“And I don’t owe you obedience,” I shot back.
He exhaled through his nose. The sound was small but full of restraint, like the sound a blade makes before it breaks its sheath.
I wanted to turn away. Should have left him standing there, drowning in his own control. But I didn’t.
“You think your silence protects anyone?” I asked. “It only makes you colder.”
His eyes found mine, gray and bright in the frostlight. “And yet you keep standing closer.”
“I’m not afraid of the cold.”
“You should be.”
“Maybe I’m tired of being afraid.”
That struck him. Not visibly—not to anyone else. But I saw the flicker: the faint tightening in his jaw, the small tremor of breath he caught before it could escape. I’d learned how to read him too well. Every guarded motion, every pause meant to hide what he felt, all of it cataloged in the quiet hours since Hollowmere.
“I can’t protect you from this Court,” he said at last. “From me.”
“Have you considered that I don’t need protecting?” I whispered.
His breath hitched. The silence that followed felt dangerous.
When he moved, it wasn’t far—just half a step—but it was enough to make the frostlight ripple against his armor. I could see the pulse at his throat now.Thump-thump. Thump-thump.His gloved hand flexed once, fingers curling and uncurling as though something inside him was fighting for air.
