My grip on the railing tightens, something – not quite a breath – catching in my sternum. I turn my head to look at him.
The gentle rays of daybreak soften his features, casting shadows over the hard lines of his face. But I can see the purple kiss of exhaustion around his eyes. The tug of regret pulling his brows together. It’s subtle, hidden behind the walls he’s built to guard himself, but it’s real.
“I know,” I say softly.
We stand in silence for a few more moments. I watch as his shoulders tense and relax, as though he’s battling with himself to find the right words.
But my stare lingers longer than intended as I take in his uniform, the way it moulds perfectly to his lithe body, hugging his chest and tapering at his waist.
The shiny fabric moves with the smallest adjustment of his muscles, and it’s the insignificant small details that keep me transfixed: the crease where the fabric gathers at his elbow, the shift in his posture as he adjusts his utility belt. There’s something intriguing, too, about the brooch pinned near his collar – how it draws attention to his Adam’s apple, and the veins in his neck, only barely visible under his pale skin.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Taron says. “I don’t want to be like that.”
“I wasn’t trying to pry into your head. I just…” I hesitate, unable to bring myself to tell him the truth. He can’t know I used my talents on him. Not yet, anyway. Not when we still have two more trials ahead of us. I need him to trust me. “Like I said, I thought you were having a nightmare.”
“It’s dangerous to get too close to me. When I’m sleeping, I mean.”
I hold his stare, enjoying the way the wind tousles his violet locks. “What about when you’re awake? Is it dangerous to get close to you, then?”
He blinks at me in surprise, lips slightly parted. In that fleeting second, his expression is raw, vulnerable. I want to reach out and touch his cheek. Bridge the space between us.
But I don’t. Instead, I turn my gaze back to the sea.
The sun has risen higher now, bathing the water in gold and setting the sky on fire. In the distance, Aurora Isle is a little clearer – still too far to pick out details along the shore, but close enough to feel more real.
The dawn is beautiful, and for a moment, I forget where we are, soaking in the peace of the morning.
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Taron says, finally breaking the silence with an answer to my question. “Everyone close to me always seems to get hurt. Or worse.”
I nod, my lips curving into a small, sad smile. “I suppose that makes two of us.”
“I’m sorry.”
I gulp, but his apology continues to hang, fragile and genuine, swelling at the back of my throat like a bitter pill that doesn’t want to go down.
How is it possible that this is the same Taron – the same man who took Elara’s body from me without a shred of remorse, who stood silent while Madame Vera ripped apart lives like they were nothing?
And yet, here he is, looking at me like this. Like he’s capable of feeling. Like he’s capable of guilt.
I want to believe him, but then I remember the visions. I see him again, looming tall over the bloody man, his boot pressing down as if crushing something insignificant. The vacant look in his eyes, the same look I saw that night in the cottage. Cold. Empty.
I glance down at his hand resting on the railing beside mine, our fingers almost touching. My knuckles twitch, and I want to pull away, but I stay still, frozen by the confusing storm he stirs inside me. What if the Taron in front of me now is a lie? What if the real Taron is the one I saw in those visions, and all this – the apology, the softness – is just another game orchestrated by Madame Vera? A way to manipulate me and make me lower my guard. I can’t tell.
And that terrifies me.
I can’t help it. I want to understand him, even as everything in me screams to run.
Before I can reconsider, I reach out and brush my handagainst his. It’s a small gesture, but in this moment, it feels like enough.
“If you could disappear,” I ask. “If you could get away from it all and go anywhere, where would it be?”
Taron tilts his head, his brow furrowing. He lets out a breath and glances at the horizon where the sky meets the sea.
I wait in silence.
“There’s this place,” he says after a pause. “A market town along the southern coast of Wrisha. It’s called Brim.”
I didn’t expect him to have an answer so readily. “What’s it like?”
