“He’s stubborn,” she adds with a small smile. “But his heart’s in the right place. He wants to protect people.”
Something aches deep in my chest. “He reminds me of my best friend, Lyra. She said almost the exact same thing when she chose to train at the outpost.” I rest my hand over hers on the counter. “I’ll remember his name,” I say softly. “And we’ll make sure he’s not alone.”
Rhosyn smiles, her eyes shining. “Thank you, Spiritborn.”
And this time, when she calls me Spiritborn, I don’t correct her.
The sun hangs lower as we step out of the apothecary, castinglong, honeyed streaks over the cobblestones. But it’s Rhosyn I’m still thinking about—the strain in her voice, the weight behind her words. What it costs to become someone others believe in.
I’m not watching where I’m going, nearly walkingstraightinto someone. Broad shoulders. Tall frame. A presence that hits before the face even registers.
Of course.
Thane.
I halt, mid-step, nearly dropping the carefully wrapped bundle in my hands. He catches me by the elbow without missing a beat, steadying me as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. His smoke-gray eyes meet mine, something flickering there. Amusement, maybe. Or curiosity. Or something else.
“Easy,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “You alright?”
Because I stopped short—just in time—for half a heartbeat, I think I’ve recovered.
Unfortunately, Darius and Fenric are right behind me and don’t notice that I’ve stopped. They slam into me like a pair of human battering rams, sending me flying forward with a yelp.
I stumble—and land face-first into Thane’s chest.
Solid. Unyielding. Glorious.
My hands press flat to his chest, one still awkwardly clutching the bundle of salves caught between us—but that barely registers. I’m plastered against him, every inch of me aligned to his. I can feel everything—the hard lines beneath his shirt, the carved strength of his torso.
My breasts, my stomach, my hips—all of me flush againstallof him.
It’s like the moment is suspended in air. I can feel the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek.
Steady.
Like him.
And gods, he’s warm—heat radiating off him like a secondsun. He smells like cedar and leather and something faintly smoky. It wraps around my skin and curls into my lungs like it wants to stay.
I should pull back.
Ihaveto pull back.
But his hand is still holding my elbow, his fingers firmly keeping me there.
And he’s not pulling away either.
Is he breathing like I am—shallow, fast, unsure? Or is he just as composed and unreadable as ever?
I can’t tell.
I want to look up. Gods, I need to see his face—to know if this moment is real for him too, or if I’m the only one standing here, heart pounding, skin burning, mind unraveling.
But I can’t move.
Neither of us does.
The world falls away—the village noise, the street, the sunlight—until only this remains: the heartbeats between us, stretched tight and electric.
