The noise around us swells again. But I just sit there. The weight pushing in behind my eyes, behind my ribs.
“I’m so tired,” I whisper.
The words hang in the air.
No one laughs this time. Then—Fenric, softly: “Then stop fighting it, sweetheart.”
I blink. Because it’s so simple. And somehow—it’s exactly what I needed to hear.
I stare down at the table, fingers trailing the rim of my cup. No one pushes. No one fills the silence. They justwait.
And gods, it’s such a relief—to not have to pretend anymore.
“I’ve been holding everything so tightly,” I say, voice low. “Like if I let go for even a second, I’ll fall apart.”
My eyes sting, but I don’t look up.
“I’m tired of pretending I don’t care. I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t hurt. And I’m tired of being the only one trying to carry it all.”
A breath I didn’t know I was holding slips out of me. A release. A surrender.
I glance at Lyra. She doesn’t smirk this time, only nods. Like she’s been waiting for me to say it. Lyra sets her cup down, the motion slow.
“You keep acting like if you let yourself feel this—if you let yourselfhavethis—it’ll make you weak.” Her eyes shine, never leaving mine. “But what if it makes you stronger?”
They all nod, not one of them surprised. Like they’ve all known long before I let myself see it.
I exhale, shaking my head. “I don’t think anything about Thane and me is simple, guys.”
Lyra grins. “Oh, weknow.That’s what makes it fun.”
I groan, rubbing my hands over my face. “I hate you.”
Lyra raises her cup. “You love me.”
I grumble, but don’t argue. Because she’s right. Again.
I raise my drink, clinking it against hers. “Fine. To . . . whatever this is.”
Lyra smirks. “To admitting things you don’t want to admit.”
“To admitting things you don’t want to admit!” Everyone echoes.
Fenric leans in, grinning. “So many innuendos in that toast. Gods bless you, Lyra.”
We all burst out laughing. Ale sprays across the table from at least two of my friends’ mouths. One mug hits the ground and shatters.
I down the rest of my drink in one swig. It burns.
But it’s the first thing all day that doesn’t feel heavy.
The night air is cool, biting against my overheated skin as Lyra and I stumble our way back toward the barracks. She insisted I needed to sleep it off.
I didn’t argue.
The cobblestones tilt under my feet. Or maybe that’s just me.
Lyra’s arm is looped through mine. How she’s still upright after everything we drank is a mystery I’m too drunk to solve.
