Lyra nudges my arm. “Well, at least you finally told us what actually happened. We were starting to think you’d taken a vow of silence.”
“Or maybe she was planning her next reckless act of revenge,” Fenric says, the usual mischief glinting in his eyes.
I groan loudly, dropping my forehead against the table.
Laughter ripples from my friends, light and easy. A hand presses gently to my back, tracing slow, familiar circles. I lift my head—and there’s Lyra, her green eyes full of the fifteen years we’ve shared as friends. She knows me too well.
Something in my chest loosens. I don’t say thank you. I don’t need to. She already knows. Despite myself, I laugh—just a little.
For the first time in days, the weight in my chest feels a little lighter.
As the conversation fades into casual chatter around me, I stare into the empty hearth of the pub. It’s too warm for a fire, but it doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t reach the cold lingering deep inside me anyway.
I should feel relieved because it turned out to be nothing. Or foolish for how I let this consume me.
But it’s more than embarrassment. It’s not that I misread him.
It’s that Iwantedit to be true.
The idea that he looked at me the way I looked at him. That maybe, for once, it wasn’t about duty or obligation. That maybe, just maybe, it was real.
I take another sip of ale, the bitterness settling on my tongue, but it does nothing to quiet the hollow ache growing in my chest.
Taila glances toward the entrance, then back at us. “Looks like the Phoenix Ring is back.”
I follow her gaze just as Garrick, Rian, and Jarek stepinside—expressions grim. Warm light flickers across their worn leathers, the scent of the road clinging to them: dust, sweat, and something sharper beneath.
Dragon fire. The smoky tang curls under the stale bite of ale.
They move toward the bar, exchanging quiet words with the innkeeper—shoulders heavy with exhaustion.
But even before I count their faces, I know. Thane isn’t with them.
A sharp knot forms beneath my ribs.
I don’t know why I expected him to walk through that door—or why I even care. But his absence is a weight I can’t ignore. I try to shake it, but the urge lingers, growing stronger with every passing second.
Shame or no shame, I need to know he’s okay.
I push my chair back, take one last swig of my drink, and set it down. “I’m tired. Think I’ll head back to the barracks.”
Lyra doesn’t even try to hide her skepticism. She tilts her head, unimpressed, and drawls, “Yeah, right. Off to bed you go.” Sarcasm drips from every word.
They all know where I’m headed.
I don’t respond. Just rise, turn, and step out into the night.
Even though it is early summer, the air feels cool, crisp against my skin after the warmth of the pub. The village is quiet at this hour—lanterns flickering in shuttered windows, the last murmurs of conversation fading behind me. The packed dirt road stretches ahead, familiar beneath my boots.
The outpost is half a mile away, but with every step, the tension in my chest tightens. I tell myself this isn’t about Thane. That I’m just walking off the ale. That I need air.
The lie is thin—even in my own mind.
The outpost rises in the distance, its stone walls bathed in silver moonlight. I slip through the gates, the sentries nodding in silent acknowledgment. The courtyard is mostly empty, exceptfor the occasional flicker of movement along the ramparts.
And then I see him.
Thane strides across the courtyard ahead, his frame unmistakable—even in the dark. He moves toward a tower door, steps purposeful, but missing their usual edge.
