No one answered. Because the Devouring One was only ever spoken of in stories—the kind whispered to frighten children away from cursed paths. A myth. A warning. A catastrophe with a name. A being too horrible to exist.
Yet Lysandra kept going.
“A reflection that isn’t you,” she whispered, “but wants to be. It will grow stronger the more you do.”
Her hand slipped away from Poppy’s cheek, and her eyes unfocused. She collapsed sideways. Caelan caught her just before she hit the dirt, lowering her gently.
Poppy, heart thundering in her ribs, stared at her sister, Mingxi’s arms the only thing keeping her upright.
Mingxi’s answer came at last—immediate, steady, and low enough that it felt like a vow whispered directly into her spine. “It means,” he murmured, drawing her gently against his chest, “we don’t let you out of our sight.”
His tails tightened around her—warm, soft, fierce, and Poppy closed her eyes. Overwhelmed. Exhausted. Yet somehow she felt completely safe.
Chapter 76
Poppy trembled once in his arms, a small, involuntary shiver, and Mingxi tightened his hold without thinking. Her cheek rested against his chest, right over his heartbeat. Too trusting. Too open. Too unaware of how easily he could fail her.
Lysandra’s whisper still echoed through the clearing like a bruise:
She breaks quietly.
Your silence will feel like rejection.
She will think she is the reason you hold back.
Withholding is how she learned she wasn’t wanted.
Every word carved deeper.
His silence had always been his shield. His distance, a discipline. His restraint, a sacred oath to do no harm. But thanks to Lysandra, he understood he had been measuring safety the wrong way. Because for Poppy, for the girl who’d grown up mistaking indifference for normal, quiet was not comfort.
Quiet was abandonment.
Mingxi exhaled once through his nose, the breath unsteady despite his control. Caelan was still crouched over Lysandra’s unconscious form. The fire hissed softly, but all Mingxi could focus on was the weight of Poppy against him.
She didn’t know what the Devouring One meant. Didn’t recognize the cold terror that name carried. Didn’t understand why he and Caelan had gone still. She only knew fear, and she had turned into him, not away.
His tails tightened reflexively around her, awareness settling like an ache beneath his ribs.
She trusts me.
More deeply than she should.
More blindly than is wise.
If Lysandra’s warning held truth, and his instincts told him it did, then even that trust could break her. His restraint was meant to protect her, but if he was not careful, if he hid too much, if he kept his distance out of fear or discipline, that distance would cut her deeper than any blade. Helowered his head until his cheek brushed against her hair, a gesture so small he doubted she’d feel it consciously.
I will not be another wound you carry quietly.
I will not be the silence that breaks you.
I will not let my restraint become your fear.
He looked down at her sleeping face, her lashes damp with tears of exhaustion.
Lysandra’s final whisper tightened around his spine:
She deserves someone who steps forward. Not someone who stands still.
