I could tell him I’m tired of carrying it alone. That just once, I want someone to carryme. That when he looks at me like that—like he seesme, not just the title—it makes me want things I don’t have room to want.
I could tell him. But I don’t.
Instead, I let my head rest against his shoulder. Just for a second. Just long enough to remember what his warmth feels like before I have to pretend again.
Thane doesn’t pull away like I expect. Not yet anyway.
I make it a few more steps before my foot catches on something—a loose stone, a patch of uneven ground, maybe just my own terrible decisions—and suddenly, the world tips sideways.
I curse loudly while stumbling forward.
Strong arms catch me before I hit the ground. My cheek presses against something warm. Hard muscle and leather.
Him.
Thane.
His arms tighten around me, lifting me effortlessly, one beneath my knees, the other braced against my back. My stomach flips, and not just from the sudden movement.
“Okay, this is unnecessary,” I mumble, my words slurring slightly.
“You can’t even walk straight,” he mutters, adjusting his grip. “Just let me do this.”
I grumble, but I don’t fight him because the exhaustion hits me like a wave. My head drops to his shoulder. Warm. Strong. So comforting.
Dangerous.
My chest tightens, the anger, sadness, and confusion bubbling up. And before I can stop myself, the words holding allof that weight leaves my lips.
“You just . . . left.”
He says nothing, just keeps walking. His boots hit cobblestone in a steady rhythm, and somehow, that sound makes it easier to breathe.
I shift slightly. My fingers curl into his shirt, clinging, just a little. My eyes drift half-closed as the alcohol makes my tongue loose.
“You always like bossing people around?”
His chest vibrates with a low exhale.
“Only when they make terrible choices,” he responds flatly.
I hum, drowsily. “So all the time, then.”
His breath stirs my hair, and in it, I catch the faintest edge of amusement.
I let myself lean into him, just a breath. Just enough to forget. To let the warmth blur everything sharp. Long enough to wonder—what if things were different?
What if I could just be Amara?
A girl. Held like this. Wanted like this.
No.
Shit.
I shove the thought away—but the words are already out.
“You always catch me.”
