“Isn’t it?” he asks. “You are human. This world taxes you differently. Acknowledging that is not insult.”
“I didn’t say it was,” I snap. “I meant you don’t get to manage me like terrain.”
Something flickers in his eyes that’s not quite irritation, more like strained restraint.
“I manage risk,” he says. “You are taking this personally.”
“Because it is personal,” I shoot back. “You grab me without asking, then talk like I’m something that needs accounting for.”
“I grabbed you because you were falling.”
“And then you let go,” I say. “Like you were afraid you’d touched too much.”
His jaw tightens. For the first time since we left the canyon, something close to emotion breaks through his careful control.
“You think I don’t know restraint?” he says quietly. “You think this is me failing at it?”
I hesitate, only for a breath, but it’s enough. Rverre shifts uneasily, her humming faltering. Illadon steps closer to her, eyes flicking between us, uncertainty creeping in.
“This isn’t helping.” I say, exhaling sharply and taking a step back.
“No,” Korr agrees. “It isn’t.”
We stand staring at each other for a moment longer, heat and silence pressing in, the argument unfinished and poorly timed. I’m feeling the weight of my own reaction—too sharp, too defensive, driven by something old and bleeding into the present.
“I don’t want to be treated like I’ll break,” I say finally, quieter now. “I’ve already survived that.”
He studies my face, gaze searching in a way that makes my chest tighten.
“You are not breakable,” he says. “You are… unguarded.”
Before I can respond, Rverre speaks.
“The ground doesn’t like it when you pull away,” she says softly.
Both of us turn toward her. She looks between us, brow furrowed, wings twitching in small, uneasy motions.
“It tightens,” she adds. “Like it’s waiting for you to stop arguing.”
Illadon frowns. “You’re not supposed to listen to grown-ups’ moods.”
She shrugs one small shoulder. “I don’t listen to them. I feel them.”
That breaks the moment. Whatever heat was building between Korr and me drains away, replaced by something colder and more sobering. This isn’t about pride or irritation or who caught whom. It’s about the children and about what our tension costs them.
I nod once, swallowing the rest of what I want to say.
“We’ll keep moving,” I say. “No more stops.”
Korr inclines his head, accepting the truce without comment.
We fall back into motion, the space between us narrower now—not because I chose it, but because the desert left us no room to pretend distance doesn’t matter.
The argument isn’t resolved and it sure as everything isn’t finished.
And as the wind shifts again and the horizon shimmers ahead, I know with a sinking certainty that this is only the beginning of what we’re going to tear open between us—whether we’re ready for it or not.
12
