The curve of his mouth—held in that same careful restraint, like he’s always one breath from saying something he shouldn’t. His dark, tousled hair falls across his brow, damp from sparring, framing a face shaped by discipline and fire—and somethingsofter he tries to bury.
And his eyes . . . smoke-gray, laced with gold. Like the first crack of sunlight through a thundercloud.
They don’t just look at me—theysearch. Like he’s trying to read something I haven’t said. Waiting for something I don’t know how to give.
They hold me there, suspended.
I force the words out, swallowing the lump in my throat. “No reason,” I say, voice flat. “It was nothing.”
Thane studies me, his gaze flicking between my eyes—like he’s trying to pull the truth from my silence. Then, finally, he exhales and releases my arm.
The warmth of his touch vanishes as quickly as it came.
He doesn’t press or push further.
He just lets it go.
The moment settles over me, heavy and suffocating. The fire, the rage, the storm I had built inside myself over the past two days—it all crumbles into something smaller, something pathetic.
I feel stupid. Like I invented it all in my head.
Shame settles heavy beneath my ribs. I swallow it. Lock it away. Add it to everything else I’m too afraid to face.
And just like that, the moment shatters—broken by the sound of boots pounding hard across the dirt. I barely register the sound before Captain Elaris appears, every movement tight with urgency.
“My lord,” he says, voice clipped. “We have a situation. A scouting party from the western patrol has gone missing. Their last report placed them near the borderlands, but they never returned, nor have we received any further word.”
Thane shifts in an instant. The Warlord replaces the man who stood before me, his expression hardening as he straightens.
“How long?”
“At least a full night. One of the scouts circled back at dawn when the others didn’t return. There were signs of a struggle.”
My confusion, my shame—they crash under the weight of Elaris’s words. A moment ago, I was drowning in self-doubt. In confusion. In whatever this thing between Thane and me was becoming.
But none of that matters now because something bigger is at stake.
Thane’s jaw tightens, his entire focus shifting away from me. “We leave in twenty minutes on dragonback. Tell Garrick, Jarek, and Rian.”
Elaris nods and turns on his heel—already in motion.
I watch him go, but my thoughts stay with the man still standing in front of me. Thane looks back—just once, unreadable—then turns and follows.
Later that evening, I’m at the pub with Lyra, Darius, Fenric, and Taila—gathered around a worn wooden table, ales in hand.
Firelight flickers across the stone walls. The air is thick with roasted meat and spiced cider. Laughter and quiet chatter swirl around me, but I feel distant—like I’m watching everything from behind a thick pane of glass.
I poke at the food on my plate. No appetite. Just the day replaying on a loop in my head.
Lyra nudges my arm, arching a brow. “Okay, what’s with the mopey face?”
Taila smirks, shooting Lyra a knowing glance before turning to me. “Let me guess. Thane.”
I make a face. She only smirks harder. She’s not letting it go.
Taila leans forward, her dark hair framing her bronze face. She rests her chin on her palm.
“You didn’t exactly give us many details about that dinner. Just that it was ‘fine’ and that the nobles were insufferable.”
