“That she is.”
The wind lifts the edge of my shirt. It’s not cold, just persistent. Like it’s trying to remind me I’m still here. Still breathing.
“I keep waiting for it to end,” I admit. “For someone to show up. For the other shoe to drop.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just waits.
“It’s like part of me thinks peace is just the hallway before the next execution.”
Now he turns to me. Face calm. “And what’s the other part think?”
I shake my head. “That maybe this is real. And I have no idea what the hell to do with that.”
He chuckles. “That makes two of us.”
We lapse into silence again, and it’s not heavy. It’s soft. Worn-in.
Comfortable like an old jacket you forgot you still had.
After a while, I ask the question I’ve been circling for weeks.
“What comes next?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Just lets the wind speak for him.
Then:
“Work, maybe. Teaching. I could help with training, or scouting. They’d want me for the east range patrols, I’m guessing.”
I nod. “They’d be stupid not to.”
“And you?” he asks.
I snort. “I dunno. Maybe I’ll become a fisherwoman. Learn how to tie those complicated shell traps the elders use. Or grow moss tea.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You hate moss tea.”
“Exactly. Keeps me humble.”
That earns a laugh—real and deep and warm enough to scrape some of the tension out of my spine.
We fall quiet again.
The sea keeps glowing.
The wind keeps tugging.
Time feels like it’s moving sideways.
“I didn’t think we’d make it,” I say suddenly.
It just falls out. No ceremony. No build.
But it lands like truth.
Vael’s hand finds mine.
He threads our fingers together.
