The space between us shrinks—just slightly—but it’s enough to make my breath stall. The air tightens, charged and humming.
And then—his fingers brush mine.
Light. Tentative. Barely there.
A silent question neither of us dares to voice. His warmth seeps into me, steady and waiting.
I don’t breathe, afraid the moment will break if I do.
Thane has touched mehundredsof times before now.
Adjusting my stance. Correcting my form. Turning my head with a firm grip beneath my jaw. Reaching down to pull me up after knocking me down. There were times he pinned me, held me in place with the full weight of his body. Times our skin touched in sparring, in sweat, in heat.
But this—this—feels different. Like everything unspoken between us has settled into this single point of contact.
My fingers twitch. Before I can stop myself, I turn my hand over and lace my fingers through his. His hand tenses in mine.
For a breath, I’m certain he’s going to pull away, to retreat into that familiar distance he always maintains.
But he doesn’t.
Just like the night on the tower after Thane found one of his squadrons slaughtered. Instead, his grip relaxes—just slightly—his fingers settling against mine in a silent acceptance.
A quiet surrender.
I draw in a shallow breath, my chest suddenly too tight. I don’t know if I should say something—if Ishouldbreak whatever fragile, flickering thing is settling between us.
But neither of us speak. We just sit there, hands intertwined,staring out at the trees. Like silence is the only way to keep it from breaking.
And then—just like that—he pulls away. The absence of his touch is immediate. Sharp.
Whatever almost happened . . . vanishes. Buried beneath the weight of everything left unsaid.
I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my fingers curling instinctively into the earth like it might still have the power to anchor me.
He doesn’t look at me.
But I see it—the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands clench against his thighs like he’s punishing himself for eventhatsmall slip of control.
And then, again—just like that—he shifts away. Shutting the door. Sealing it. Whateveralmostslipped free between us is gone.
“I should go,” he says, quieter now. Restrained.
I glance up at him, searching for something—anything—but his expression is already locked behind those walls I can never seem to get through.
Before I can speak—before I can evenprocess—he turns and walks away. Disappearing into the fading light of the outpost, just as easily as if none of it ever happened.
I sit there, fingers still tingling from his touch, staring out at the trees—confusion and something far more dangerous curling tight in my chest.
Want.
I stay under the oak tree for hours, unmoving. My thoughts churn with everything that happened today. My elemental powers—how they surged, how theymerged.How they hurt Thane.
Kieran.
Thane.
The fear of losing control again, of becoming something dangerous. Something I can’t pull back from once it begins.
