I swallow hard.
“Is that . . . the bond?” My voice comes out quiet, unsteady. “Is that what you’ve been feeling these past few days?”
I search his eyes, something fragile rising in my chest.
“It felt like something pulling here—” I press my free hand to my chest. “And then . . . something beating next to my heart.”
Thane nods slowly, his eyes widening, but he doesn’t let go of my hand.
And after everything—after all the doubt, the tension, the rollercoaster of emotions I’ve been trapped in these past few days—the first thing that rises to the surface is . . . relief.
Relief.
Not joy. Not certainty. Just this deep, steady exhale I didn’t know I’d been holding. Because I can feel it, too. It’s not just him. It’s not just for Thane.
Me.
I feel it too. And I didn’t realize until this moment—how much I needed that. Not the bond itself. Not the magics. Not what it means for the prophecy.
But what it means forme. Forus.
I didn’t realize how adrift I’ve felt since the attack. Since I lost my family. Since my world shattered and rebuilt itself withoutasking if I was ready.
But now . . . I’mtrulynot alone in this. And for the first time, that tether—the one that scared me so much—doesn’t feel like a chain. It feels like home.
But when I turn to Thane, smiling—expecting to find even a flicker of the relief I feel reflected back at me—I don’t. His face has gone ghostly pale. His jaw locked. Shoulders tense. Rigid.
Like someone just ripped the ground out from beneath him.
“Thane?” I ask, tentatively. “Everything okay?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares straight ahead, his features frozen, unreadable.
Then, his expression shifts. That mask of control slides back into place. And just like that, my heart drops.
Quietly, deliberately, Thane lets go of my hand.
The cold rushes in immediately, and I hate how much I notice it. He rises, stretching slightly, rolling his shoulders—the movement controlled, practiced, like nothing happened at all. Then, finally, he looks down at me.
“Come on.”
His voice is back to what it always is—steady, unreadable, just out of reach.
I blink up at him, confused by the sudden shift in the air. “Where?”
He tilts his head toward the mess hall. “You should go eat breakfast.”
I press my palms against the cool grass, inhaling deeply before pushing to my feet. Thane is already a few paces ahead, but he pauses just before entering the main outpost gates, glancing back at me.
For a moment, his gaze drops to my hand—like he’s considering taking it again. Then—he looks away.
I watch him walk off without another word. The warmth fading, the silence deafening. I stand there, hand still hanging bymy side, like he might come back for it.
But he doesn’t.
And all I can think is:What the fuck just happened?
By the time breakfast ends, the outpost hums with routine. The smell of fire-roasted bread and strong black tea lingers in the crisp air, mixing with the scent of damp earth and steel. Soldiers move through the outpost in organized motions—some preparing for patrol, others sharpening weapons or checking gear.
