I lean forward, elbows on my knees, hands tangled together like they’re holding me in place.
“Rian . . . ” I pause, my throat tightening around the words. But I say it anyway—quiet, raw. “I told her about my family.”
He doesn’t speak. Just watches, the calm at the center of the storm tearing through me.
I keep my eyes on the ground.
“I told her about Rowena. About Kastiel. About my father.” I draw a breath. “I almost told her about my mother.”
That silence—the one Rian always carries like a blade—sharpens. I can’t look at him.
“She asked nothing,” I continue. “Didn’t push. Justsat there.And I—” I shake my head. “It was like the words just slipped outbefore I could stop them.”
Rian exhales slowly, the faintest sound. Not judgment. Just . . .understanding.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I said Kastiel’s name out loud?” I mutter. “Since I let myselfthinkabout what it was like—before?”
Still, Rian says nothing. Just a steady presence beside me. The same way I’ve done for others—when they needed space. When they couldn’t carry it alone. What I tried to do for Amara this morning when I found her at the temple.
And the confession tears free before I can stop it.
“I don’t do this,” I snap, the edge creeping into my voice. “I don’ttalk.I don’t share. That’s not who I am. That’s not who I can be.”
Rian’s voice is low when it finally comes. “But you did.”
I look at him. Sharp. Defensive.
He doesn’t waver.
Bastard.
“You did, Thane,” he repeats simply. “And the world didn’t end.”
I huff, scoffing bitterly. “Not yet.”
He watches me for a long beat. Then, softer—“You never talk about your mother.”
“I know.”
“You almost did today.”
I nod once. Slow. “I haven’t even said her name in years.”
“Why is that?” he asks, and it’s not a challenge. Just a question. Gentle. Real.
I swallow. I can’t tell him—all of why I won’t talk about my mother. But I can tell Rian this one thing.
“Because she was the last person who looked at me like I was more than a weapon.”
The words sit between us. Bare and unforgiving.
Rian, steady as ever, rests his forearms on his knees and says quietly, “Maybe that’s why you keep looking at her.” He nods his chin toward the barracks, where Amara disappeared minutes ago.
My eyes follow—without meaning to. The door is closed. The light inside flickers faintly through the windows. She’s probably already changing out of her training gear, unaware of the chaos she’s left behind in her wake.
“I’m notlookingat her,” I mutter.
Rian gives me a look. A single raised brow that saysdon’t insult me.
