“That’s okay,” he replies. “I’ll know it’s there, even if no one else can see it.”
He weaves our fingers together, the ring glinting between us. “You may now kiss the husband,” he whispers.
We smile until our cheeks ache as I cup his face and draw him close, fisting his hair to pull him impossibly nearer. Our lips meet, and I pray life will always be this perfect.
The memory fades, leaving me clutching the ring so tightly the edges bite into my skin. I stare at it for a long time, the polished silver catching the faint light, every imperfection a reminder of the night I made it for him.
He kept it.
All these years, through everything, he kept it.
The realization knocks the air from my lungs, and I slip the ring onto my pinkie. It’s too big, but close enough, and my hand curls into a fist and presses it against my chest where that permanent ache lives.
I don’t know what comes next, but pretending I don’t care feels impossible.
I gather his things, placing them into the satchel with more care than I want to admit. The map of the city goes in last, folded neatly on top.
When I step into the hallway, Cato and Ego fall quiet. They don’t ask questions, only share a look that says they understand.
“Let’s go,” I say, voice steadier than I feel, and my hand stays in my pocket as we leave the inn.
They talk and chatter on the walk home, but my attention stays locked on the secret weight pressing against my skin.
Xeni
Istareatthewall, tracing the faint scuffs and marks with my eye even though I should try to rest. My mind refuses to quiet for the night, spinning in relentless circles of worst-case scenarios ever since Bash threatened to drop me outside the city.
The possibility that this might be the end, that he could finally be done with me, creeps up my throat in a tide I can’t swallow. It floods me with a grief so sharp it feels like it could drown me from the inside.
Footsteps approach the door, heavy at first, then pausing as whispered voices exchange something just outside. One set retreats down the hall while the door creaks open.
Bash’s familiar scent reaches me before anything else, and I realize he’s alone. My heart stutters in a desperate, traitorous hope even as dread coils tighter in my gut.
Maybe it's a good thing.
Or maybe this is goodbye, and he's granting me the dignity of doing it without witnesses.
I lie perfectly still, facing away and barely breathing as he hesitates in the doorway. A quiet sigh escapes him, laced with exhaustion and something far more fragile. He steps closer until his presence looms beside the bed, then settles onto the floor and leans against the side of it with another sigh. The sound is deeper this time, carrying a weariness that’s seated in his very soul.
Thick, suffocating silence stretches between us, broken only by the soft rhythm of our breathing. Every one of my nerve endings is alive with the agony of his nearness as I wait in the charged quiet.
“I know you aren’t asleep,” he says at last.
“No,” I admit just as quietly.
“Why’d you keep it?”
I twist to look over my shoulder to find the back of his head only a foot away. Slowly, I roll over to face him, though I keep my distance.
“Keep what?”
“The ring,” he whispers.
My fingers tighten in the blanket to stop me from reaching out. “It was the only part of you I had left.”
He breathes a laugh that dances the line between sorrow and anger. “We both know that isn’t true. You kept the best parts of me when you sent me away.”
“Bash—”
