What if ithurtsher?
I squeeze my eyes shut, my fists clenched against my thighs.
Gods. If this hurts her . . .
If I’m the reason she—
I don’t finish the thought. I just breathe. Slowly. Shallowly. The scent of blood still clings to the air.
Valen must sense the shift in me—because a moment later, his hand is on my shoulder again. Grounding. Solid.
I turn my head.
“Thane?” he asks, his voice low, steady. His silver-blue eyes search mine. “What is it?”
I look away. I can’t tell him. Not the real reason. Not the truth clawing under my skin like it’s trying to get out. No one can know. Not even Valen.
What’s in my blood has to stay buried.Locked down. Sealed tight.
I’ll find a way to keep it from touching her.
Ihave to.
I’ve done it this long. Years of control. Of silence. Of walking the edge and never slipping. I can keep doing it.
For her.
So I give him the other truth. The one Icansay aloud.
I exhale slowly. The words scrape their way out, rough and raw.
“Valen . . . I’ve fallen for her.” I pause. The admission drops between us like a stone. “I really tried—” I swallow hard, my voice thinning. “I really tried not to.”
I shrug, but it’s not casual. There’s no ease in the movement—just inevitability, sinking into my bones like lead. Like I’ve been fighting a war I already knew I’d lose.
Valen doesn’t speak right away. He just watches me. And for once, there’s no lecture in his silence. No weighty truth waiting to be handed down.
Then, softly—“It was never going to be that simple, was it?”
I huff a bitter laugh. “Nothing ever is with me.”
His gaze flicks to Amara. Her breathing’s steadier now. Her face a little less pale. But she’s still unconscious. Still too fragile.And I can’t bear it.
Valen’s voice drops. “Love is never weakness, Thane. But pretending you don’t feel it?” He glances back at me. “That will tear you apart.”
I don’t answer. Because it already is.
And I can’t tell him why.
AMARA
Pain.
Not sharp, not searing—but deep. A heavy ache, pulsing through my ribs, curling along my spine, dragging me from the depths of sleep. Not the kind of pain that warns of injury. The kind that lingers after healing. I shift slightly, wincing, my body feeling both weightless and leaden at the same time.
The air smells different here. Not the crisp scent of the infirmary, not the damp, smoky air of the outpost halls. Something warmer. Familiar. Woodsmoke. Metal. And beneath it all—something distinctly Thane.
I’m not in the barracks. My eyes flutter open slowly, the edges of the world still blurred, my thoughts sluggish. A dimly lit space greets me. The flickering glow of a single lantern casts long shadows across the walls, brushing against the dark wooden beams above. The scent of burning embers lingers faintly in the air.
