“Betray?” The word doesn’t make sense. “Torin, how is this?—”
“Because loving you means choosing you over my people. Over my duty. Over everything I’ve built my entire life around.” His eyes meet mine, and the anguish there steals my breath. “I would lose my place. My purpose. My identity. Everything that makes me Torin Blackwater would be gone.”
“You’d still be you. The bond doesn’t erase who you are?—”
“Doesn’t it?” He gestures between us, at the steam still rising in the air, at the evidence of what we just shared. “Look at what we’re becoming. My scales shot through with your lightning. Your ability to breathe my water. We’re changing, Zara. And I’m terrified that if I accept this, if I choose you, I won’t recognize myself anymore.”
The bond aches with his fear. With the truth beneath his words—he’s not afraid of losing himself. He’s afraid of wanting this more than duty. Of caring more about me than about protecting his people. Of discovering that love can matter more than everything he’s spent his life believing in.
“So you’d rather run.” My voice comes out flat. “You’d rather reject the bond, reject me, reject everything we could be—because you’re afraid?”
“Yes.” The word is barely a whisper. “I would rather drown than accept this.”
The words hit like a physical blow. The bond recoils—I feel it, a sharp contraction that leaves me gasping. He said he’d rather die than love me. Rather choose oblivion than connection.
I should be angry. Should rail at him for being a coward. Should storm out of this grotto and find my own way to the Citadel, to freedom, to anywhere he isn’t.
But I see his hands shaking. See the lie written in every tense line of his body. See the way his eyes track me even as he tries to push me away.
He doesn’t want to reject me. He’s terrified of wanting me.
“You’re lying.” I keep my voice gentle. Not accusing. Just observing. “To me. To yourself. The bond won’t let you hide from the truth—you don’t want to drown. You want to fly.”
“I don’t know how to fly.” The confession breaks something in his voice. “I’ve lived in the deep my entire life. How am I supposed to reach for the sky?”
“The same way I learned to breathe underwater.” I take one step toward him. Just one. “By trusting. By letting go. By believing that maybe, just maybe, we’re stronger together than we ever were apart.”
He closes his eyes. “I’m not strong enough.”
“You pulled me from the river. You defied your elder. You cut my bonds even though it made you vulnerable. You trusted me to heal your wound with the same lightning that should have killed you.” I take another step. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, Torin Blackwater. You’re just scared. And that’s okay. I’m scared too.”
His eyes open. “You’re scared?”
“Terrified.” I manage a shaky laugh. “I came here to prove I didn’t need anyone. That I could handle a crisis alone. That I was more than Kael’s little sister, more than the safe diplomat, morethan everyone’s supporting player.” I gesture at the grotto, at us, at this impossible situation. “And instead, I found someone who makes me want to be more than I ever imagined. Someone who sees me not as a diplomat or a Stormwright, but as Zara. Just Zara. And that’s the most terrifying thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Something shifts in his expression. The wall he’s building cracks, just slightly.
“But I’m choosing it anyway,” I continue softly. “I’m choosing you. Even though it’s scary. Even though I don’t know where this leads. Even though everything in my training tells me this is reckless and dangerous and probably going to end badly.” I stop a few feet from him. Close enough to feel the bond humming. Far enough to give him space. “I’m choosing this. Choosing us. The question is: are you brave enough to choose it too?”
For a long moment, he doesn’t speak. Just stares at me like I’m a puzzle he can’t solve. Like I’m hope and terror wrapped in one impossible package.
Then he slides down the wall until he’s sitting, head in his hands. Not accepting. Not rejecting. Just—existing in the space between fear and want.
“I need time,” he finally says. “To think. To process. To figure out how to be someone who wants the sky without forgetting how to breathe water.”
“Okay.” The word costs me something, but I mean it. “Take your time.”
I move to the opposite side of the grotto and settle against the stone wall. The bond stretches between us, pulled taut but not breaking. It aches with the distance. Protests the separation. But it holds.
Because sometimes love means giving someone space to be afraid.
Sometimes it means letting them come to you instead of chasing.
Sometimes it means sitting in a dark grotto, watching a man war with himself, and trusting that eventually, the wanting will win.
The moss-light flickers. Outside, water drips and echoes through distant tunnels. And Torin sits with his head in his hands, trying to figure out how to choose love over fear.
I’ll wait. However long it takes.
