Shayde looked down at his lap, fingers twisting together, the muscle in his jaw ticking. But he didn’t answer.
I scoffed and stood abruptly. “Exactly. I hate you. You hate me. So let’s not pretend otherwise. We’re not playing a part anymore.” I stormed into the warm cabin.
Shayde caught the door before I could slam it.
“I’ve never said I hated you,” he said, his voice lower—rougher now.
I whirled around, searching for a single moment when he’d said it—when he’d actually said he hated me. But I came up empty.
“I don’t hate you.” His voice was steady. Final.
I crossed my arms. “Could’ve fooled me. From the moment we clashed in that hallway, you’ve looked at me like I was your worst enemy. Every time I brought you food in that cell—same look. This entire mission, all the way up to when we had to play the part at the soiree. Like you couldn’t stand to be near me.”
He shifted, planting his hands on his hips. “I don’t necessarilylikeyou,” he admitted. “But I’ve never hated you.” He paused, his throat working visibly before he continued. “Whatever look you’re talking about—it’s not because of you.”
“Then what is it?” I challenged, my voice rising.
His hands curled into fists as he tapped his chest. “It’s because I hatemyself!” His voice cracked. “And apparently... you’re the only one who’s ever seen me with my guard down.”
The backs of my eyes burned as I stared him down. I’d spent so long mistaking his silence and scowls as proof of his contempt for me. But now… I could see the truth buried beneath his sharp edges.
Not hatred. Not even indifference.
Just someone who has been quietly falling apart for elements knows how long.
Shayde turned around, facing away from me, and ran a hand through his tousled brown hair. His shoulders were rigid, every line in his posture wound tight. I could see the definition of his muscles through the thin white sleep shirt stretched across his back.
Which, of course, made me wonder—where was that shirt last night when he was walking around this cabin shirtless?
I tried—and failed—to hide the shake in my voice. “So you’ve just been playing the part. Around everyone else.”
He let out a long breath, turning his head slightly, but keeping his back to me.
“Like that kiss,” I added, throat tightening. “That was just part of the act too.”
Shayde turned then, lips parted, his brown eyes searching mine. “The man escorting the Grim was Professor Yearwood. From Mageia. Letting him recognize me—even for a second—would’ve been too risky.”
I snorted and began pacing. “You meanme. One look at my hazel eyes and either of them would’ve realized I’m Scarlet’s twin.”
His silence cut sharper than I expected. I turned back, caught off guard by the way he was looking at me.
“You and Scarlet aren’t truly identical,” he said, his brows pinching.
I rolled my eyes. “Well, not anymore. Not since her crimson—”
“You never were,” he interrupted. “Your eyes have always been different.”
The breath left my lungs. “And how would you even know that?”
Shayde’s arms dropped to his sides. “Scarlet’s eyes were more green and brown. Yours have a burst of gold around the center. That’s how I recognizedyou—the one who gave me this.” He pointed to his nose, lifting his brows. “The first time you visited my cell.”
“You knew,” I whispered.
One corner of his mouth lifted in a cocky, crooked grin. “Of course I knew. When I had you pinned against the wall, I made sure to memorize the eyes of the tiny menace who nearly bested me. You were wearing a mask—your eyes were all I had to go on.”
I fought the grin tugging at my lips. “Ididbest you.”
“Debatable.”
