“I’m tired,” I say, voice flat. “I’m going to sleep. So unless you plan to sit there and watch me snore like a creep, you can leave.”
His reply comes rough, quieter than I expect. “Would that make you happy if I left?”
“Yeah, it would.” I keep my expression blank.
His jaw ticks, shoulders tight, chest rising too fast for the calm mask he usually wears. Then, clipped: “Fine.”
It's strange, something’s off, in his voice, in him. Out here, beyond the wall, beyond the Veils, he seems different. Less composed. It throws me, but I don’t let it show.
Instead, I hold my gaze and fold my arms. “Ezzy, Finn, Rowan. They’re not going to get in trouble for this, right? It’s not their fault, they were just helping me.”
His expression hardens. “I already promised you on the ledge—I won’t touch them. But they better not be stupid enough to abandon their patrol again. I’ll take them back to the Ashvale outpost now. They stay there until morning, then I’ll see them back to the Citadel myself.”
I exhale slow, tension unwinding from my spine. “Good.”
“Good,” he echoes, but the smirk doesn’t come back. “The journals are inside. Tell the others to meet me at the outpost—” He turns and walks off before I can answer.
I shift toward the door, ready to go inside and Bren’s already there. Leaning in the doorway, watching. His eyes flick past me, toward where Talen disappeared, then settle back on mine. “Everything okay?”
“It’s fine,” I huff. “They’re leaving.” I shift my weight, and a strange tingle runs through my feet, like pins and needles.Weird. I must be more worn out than I thought. I need to sit down.
"Here. Your tea’s getting cold."Bren slides the chipped mug across the table toward me, his fingers brushing mine for a second too long before pulling back. The steam curls up between us. Burnt mint and something vaguely floral, one of Nessi’s weird blends. I don’t drink it, my mouth tastes a little sour, so I just wrap my hands around the mug for the warmth.
I thought it’d be worse. The leaving part.
All week I’d been bracing for some drawn-out, awkward goodbye—too much eye contact, Ezzy crying, me standing there like an idiot not knowing what to say. I even half-prepared a speech in my head. Something simple. Grateful but not pathetic.
But Ezzy just hugged me like I’d be back next week. Like this was a short trip, not an ending. Finn smiled and said something about seeing me soon, and Rowan gave me one of those unreadable looks of his—half challenge, half secret—and then just… moved on.
They think I’ll be back. Because of Talen, to visit. Because they think that’s real.
No one said goodbye. Not properly. Not like they meant it.
And I didn’t correct them. Didn’t tell them the relationship with Talen was fake. Didn’t say I was never coming back.I let them believe whatever made it easier. For them. For me. For all of us.
But I’m mildly offended that they think I’d actually date someone likehim, because what the hell does that say about me?
I set my tea down and look at Bren, careful to keep my tone casual. "Is it okay if I stay here tonight? And maybe tomorrow? Just until I find another sofa to crash on."
He doesn’t hesitate. "You know you’re always welcome here. As long as you need." Then, quieter. “Some of your stuff’s upstairs. In a box. Things you left around… I got it from Rhiann and Nessi. I, uh—" His voice dips. "Couldn’t bring myself to throw it out."
I don’t say anything. Just swallow hard, like that’ll push the feeling down far enough it won’t show. His eyes meet mine again, warm, stupidly soft. The kind of look that makes it harder to breathe.
“God, I’m so glad you’re back. That you’re here.” He reaches across the table, fingertips skimming toward my hand. I pull away, not sharply, just enough.
“I’m just tired," I say. "That’s all. I want to get washed. Out of these clothes."
He nods, like he gets it. But I see the tension in his jaw. “Of course. We have time. All the time to talk.” Then he adds, quietly, “But I do want to talk, Lyra. We need to.”
I stare at the tea. The way the leaves have sunk to the bottom like sediment. “I know.”
After I’m washed and changed, I curl into Bren’s armchair. The rough wool cover scratches against my cheek, carrying that faint mix of him, scorched iron, stone, and the kind of calm that tempts you to stay. The chair’s too small to stretch out in, but it’s safer, cosier, than anything I’ve had in weeks, and for the first time in a month I feel myself start to let go.
My magic isn’t breaking loose, but it’s twitchy, buzzing from the day, and my feet tingle, so I dig through my bag until my fingers close around the duck.
The moment I hold it, Finn’s Threads, laced into the grain, steady the pull in my chest, grounding me in a way nothing elsedoes. I pull it out, turning it over, thumb brushing the rough, broken wing. Ezzy’s gone, and this is all I’ve got to remember her by.
The thought sits heavy, but I set the duck aside before it digs any deeper. Beside the chair, the package of journals waits. I pull it closer, tear through the string, and slide one free. The packaging smells faintly of him.Talen.
