I nod toward the bed, needing to keep him from bolting. “Can we sit?”
A heavy exhale pushes from his nose, but he nods and slides his backpack off his shoulders. He drops onto the end of the bed, still stiff, but I climb on with him and loop my arms around his waist. He grunts when I pull him against me but doesn’t fight it, and we curl up against the headboard with his head on my shoulder.
“You’ve seen what both my father and I can do,” I say. “We can control multiple people at once, and we don’t have to touch them. That isn’t…normal.”
Bash glances up at me but doesn’t interrupt.
“Most of my kind can’t do that,” I continue. “They need intention already there. If they want someone to eat a meal, that person has to be hungry… or at least open to the idea. They can’t take someone who’s full and convince them to go back for seconds,especiallynot from across a room.”
“But you can.”
“But I can,” I confirm, the admission tasting bitter on my tongue. “It’s easier if I’m touching them, but I’ve always known I could do it. After I moved out of my parents’ house, I only used my powers when it was necessary, but then I got attention from what I was doing for the project. I started using them again… forcing people to share their secrets with me.”
Those memories come to light, and the guilt is rancid in my stomach.
“Xen,” Bash breathes, knowing exactly where my mind has gone.
I shake my head, staring at the wall. “I swore to stop after that. And Idid.It should’ve been harder, Bash. Rebuilding that strength after so many years should’ve felt impossible, but it wasn’t.”
A heavy breath escapes me.
“It was so fuckingeasy.”
Bash’s hand lands on my stomach in a touch that feels like a truce, fingers splayed across the fabric. He traces little circles over the top of my shirt in slow, absentminded loops, each one loosening the knot in my chest just enough to breathe.
It’s not demanding. Not urgent.
Just there.
A quiet reminder that he’s staying.
“You aren’thim, Xen,” he says. “If you hadn’t been able to do what you did, we wouldn’t have made it out of there.”
I nod, forcing myself to let the truth settle. “My father was a ruler for a reason. His powers were stronger than the world had ever seen. He could force someone to drive a blade through their own neck without touching them, or push an image into their mind until they believed it was real. People feared him, and they were right to.”
My gaze drops to Bash’s hand, still drawing those gentle circles over my shirt. “I never wanted that kind of power.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
Old pains ache inside my body. The familiar, dull throbs used to demand release, but with him beside me, that old urge to purge them is muted. It’s softened at the edges, like a bruise finally starting to fade.
It’s manageable.
For the first time in years, the hurt doesn’t feel like something that needs to be cut out to survive. It just… exists.
Quiet.
Tolerable.
Eventually, a hateful snort leaves my nose. “Father loved to claim he was touched by the old gods, but from what I’ve learned, my grandparents were nothing special. My powers were never anywhere near his. I was stronger than others, yes, but it took so much out of me, I could never maintain it for long.”
Bash’s hand keeps tracing shapes over my stomach as he sighs. “How did he feel about that?”
“That, my darling, is a very complicated answer. He was disappointed in me, but part of him was thankful I would never be strong enough to overpower him.”
“Well, he was wrong about that,” he says with a touch of heat.
That silly flutter in my chest stirs to life again, blooming under my ribs after a lifetime in the dark. Bash says it like he never doubted it for a second—like it was always obvious, always true—and the quiet certainty in his voice brings with it a sense of appreciation I can barely interpret.
