We sit together, not touching, not even quite close — but close enough that the space between us hums with things unheard and unspoken.
The light outside fades toward dusk, brushing the sky with violet and rust and fading gold. The wind whistles throughcracks in the stone, but in here, it feels like something contained, not threatening.
I look at Maug again.
Not at the monster heshouldembody.
Not at the weapon hecanbe.
But at thebeingbeside me.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel something steady — not fear, not thrill, not confusion — but warmth. Not unlike comfort.
Not unlike connection.
Not unlike… peace.
Maybe this place — this broken, jagged world — has formed us into something unlikely.
But maybe that’s exactly what we needed.
CHAPTER 20
MAUG
She keeps coming back.
I don’t understand it.
Each time I think it’ll be the last—that she’ll come to her senses, see me for what I am, and vanish like smoke on the wind. Each time, I tell myself it’s better that way. Safer. Cleaner. A kindness.
And each time… she returns anyway.
I watch her approach again, her silhouette framed in the storm-stained light of late afternoon. Her steps are lighter today. Not careless, but confident. Like the fear is finally gone. Like she’s not just tolerating my presence anymore—she’s seeking it.
That terrifies me more than the sting tails ever could.
She ducks beneath the low lip of the lava dome, brushing red dust from her scarf as she slips inside. She doesn’t speak at first. Just sets down her pack and sits on the flat stone slab I once used as a weapons bench. She pulls out her compad—smudged, half-cracked, still glowing stubbornly—and starts thumbing through data files like this is a routine visit.
Like we’re… something normal.
I stay in the shadows, at first. Old habit. Old shame. But her voice cuts through the silence, soft and sure.
“You don’t have to lurk, you know.”
I blink. My hand, still gripping the edge of the cave wall, tenses.
She glances up, smirks. “I can see your shadow. Kinda hard to miss.”
I exhale, slow. Step forward.
Her eyes track every movement, but not like the others did. There’s no recoil, no wide-eyed terror. Just interest. Curiosity. Maybe even trust. She pats the ground beside her without looking away.
“C’mon. You’re taller than the walls. You’re not fooling anyone.”
The way she says it—it’s not mocking. It’s gentle. Teasing.
I sit, careful not to let my bulk knock over her fragile-looking tech. The stone creaks beneath my weight, but she doesn’t flinch. She simply scoots over, close enough for our shoulders to nearly touch.
