“Watch your footing,” he says, voice calm and infuriatingly even.
“I had it,” I snap, the words out before I can stop them.
He glances back at me then, expression unreadable. “You didn’t.”
The honesty in it—unsoftened, unapologetic—hits harder than any rebuke could have. I bristle, anger flaring hot and sharp, even as my pulse refuses to slow.
“I didn’t ask for help,” I say.
“You didn’t need to,” he replies. “You were falling.”
“I wasn’t?—”
“Talia.”
The way he says my name—low, deliberate—cuts through my protest. We hold each other’s gaze for a beat too long. The wind presses in around us, sand whispering across skin and fabric, the desert pretending very hard not to notice the tension snapping tight between us.
Then Illadon clears his throat and I break eye contact first.
“I’m fine,” I say tightly, more to myself than anyone else.
I step past Korr and back into motion, forcing my stride steady even though my arm still hums where he touched me. Behind me, I hear him exhale—slow, controlled. We move on.
No one mentions it. Rverre hums softly, the sound threading through the air like a grounding line. Illadon stays close to her side, alert but calm. I keep my eyes forward, my jaw clenched, my thoughts a tangled mess I refuse to sort through right now.
Because the truth—sharp and unwelcome—is this that for one unguarded second, I hadn’t been afraid of falling. I’d been afraid of how quickly it stopped mattering when he caught me. And that is not a risk I’m ready to take.
The ground firms again a few minutes later, stone like ribs breaking through the sand just often enough to lull us into a dangerous sense of rhythm. My pulse settles. My breathing evens out. I tell myself it’s because I adjusted to the terrain.
It isn’t and I know it. The truth is it’s because he’s close.
I hate how easily my body seems to recalibrate around that fact—how the constant low-level vigilance eases since he’s within reach, how my shoulders drop without permission. It feels like a betrayal of everything I’ve built to survive.
So I try to put distance back. Subtle. No point in making it an announcement. This is, after all, about survival and nothing more.
I drift a step to the side, widening the space between us under the pretense of better footing. Despite my attempt to be subtle, Korr notices. He doesn’t comment, but he adjusts the line so Illadon and Rverre remain shielded.
Efficiency and acceptance without ego. It shouldn’t irritate me, but by all that’s ever been considered holy it does.
“You don’t have to hover,” I say after a while, pitching my voice low to keep it from carrying.
“I’m not,” he replies.
“Yes, you are.”
“No,” he says calmly. “I’m compensating.”
“For what?”
“For variables,” he says. Then, after a beat, he glances back at me and adds, “Including you.”
The words come across sharper than he probably intends. I stop short, forcing him to halt with me. Illadon and Rverre pause a few paces ahead, turning just enough to check in without intruding.
“I am not a variable,” I say.
He turns to face me fully, expression serious but not angry. “Everyone is.”
“That’s not what you meant.”
