Instead, she asks: “What really killed her, Torin?”
I look up sharply. “The surface. The contamination. I just told you?—”
“You told me what the healers said. What you’ve believed for years.” Her eyes are steady on mine, and I see no cruelty in them—just a relentless, gentle truth. “But I have to ask: was it the surface that killed her? Or was it the isolation that kept your healers from knowing how to treat something they’d never seen? From seeking help from surface healers who might have recognized the symptoms? From admitting that maybe, just maybe, your people don’t have all the answers?”
The words hit like a knife between my ribs.
Because I’ve asked myself that question. In the darkest hours, in the moments I don’t let anyone see, I’ve wondered if Mira died because the surface was poison—or because we were too proud to seek an antidote.
“I don’t know,” I admit, and the confession feels like drowning. “I don’t know anymore.”
She doesn’t respond with words. Instead, she moves—slowly, carefully, with her bound hands and her healing wing—until she’s beside me instead of across from me. And then she touches my cheek.
Her fingers are warm. Her bound hands make the gesture awkward, her wrists pressing against my jaw as her fingertips find my cheekbone. The touch is tentative, uncertain, like she’s not sure either of us should be doing this.
I should pull away. Every instinct of self-preservation screams at me to break the contact, maintain the walls, protect what little of my heart is still intact.
I don’t move.
The bond hums between us—not the sharp electricity of desire or the violent collision of first contact. Something softer. Quieter. Something that feels dangerously like comfort.
I lean into her touch, just slightly, and let myself feel it.
Whatever walls I built to keep people out, she’s already on the other side of them. And I’m starting to think I don’t want her to leave.
6
ZARA
Icame to negotiate with enemies. I didn’t expect to find one I wanted to understand.
The bioluminescent moss paints Torin’s face in shifting shades of blue-green as he keeps watch. He hasn’t slept. I can tell by the heaviness in his shoulders, the way his eyes track every shadow in the cavern, the tight set of his jaw.
He’s been watching all night. Protecting me.
The realization settles uncomfortably in my chest. I’m his prisoner, bound at the wrists, injured and dependent. But he’s treating me like?—
Like what? A guest? A responsibility? Something the bond is making him feel obligated toward?
I shift against the cave wall, testing my shoulder. The ghost-flower oil has done its work—the sharp agony has dulled to a persistent ache. Still can’t shift, can’t fly, but at least I can breathe without wanting to scream.
Torin’s gaze cuts to me immediately, gray-green eyes catching the dim light. “Are you in pain?”
“Less than yesterday.” I try to sit up properly, and his hands are there before I can ask—steadying, careful of my wing. Thebond hums at the contact, warm and insistent. “You need to rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re exhausted.” I keep my voice gentle, diplomatic. The tone I use when I’m trying to convince someone to accept help without making them feel weak. “You can’t keep watch forever. Even Sentinels need sleep.”
Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe, that I’m not demanding he untie me or railing against my captivity. “You’re my prisoner. It’s my responsibility to?—”
“To what? Watch me sleep? I’m not going anywhere.” I lift my bound hands. “And even if I could escape, I wouldn’t make it a mile through these tunnels without you.”
The truth of it hangs between us. I hate admitting weakness, hate being dependent on anyone. But lying would be pointless. I saw what those narrow passages did to me. Without Torin’s steadying presence, his voice counting steps, I would have clawed my way into a panic spiral that killed us both.
He studies me for a long moment. Then, slowly, he settles against the opposite wall. Not sleeping. Not quite trusting. But resting, at least.
“I can sense danger through air currents,” I offer. It’s not much, but it’s something. “Not as well as you can through water, but if something approaches from the tunnels, I’ll feel the displacement. I’ll wake you.”
