No.
Her knees didn't buckle. She locked them in place through sheer will, gripping the back of his chair until her knuckles went white, vision blurring at the edges.
All this time. All this time, she'd wondered why. What her parents had done to deserve their fate. She'd blamed herself for years, convinced that if she'd been smarter, faster, better, she could have saved them.
And it might have been because of something none of them understood. A gift sleeping in her blood.
"How long have you known this part?" she whispered.
"I've suspected for weeks. The research has been ongoing." He took a step toward her, then stopped himself. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want to give you grief built on a theory. I wanted answers first. Proof. Something real."
"That wasn't your decision to make."
"I know."
She turned to face him, and the pain in her chest wound tight, a knot she couldn't reach to undo.
"You should have told me the moment you suspected. All of it. The bloodline, my family. Even if it was just a theory." She heard the tremor in her voice and hated it. "I've spent ten years not knowing why my parents died. Ten years blaming myself. And you had pieces of the answer and sat on them because you wanted to be sure?"
His shadows curled inward. He looked like she'd struck him.
"I was trying to protect you from uncertainty?—"
"I've lived in uncertainty my whole life!" The words burst out, and the flames in his hearth flickered. "I don't need you to hand me neatanswers tied up with ribbon. I need you to trust me with the messy parts. The parts you haven't figured out yet. That's what partners do."
The word hung between them. Partners.
"You're right." He dragged a hand across his face, and when it dropped, he looked exhausted. Every one of his centuries showing in the lines around his eyes. "I told myself I was being careful. Thorough. But the truth is, I was afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"That you'd look at me differently." The words came out barely audible. "That you'd wonder if I only valued you because of what you are. What you can do." He met her eyes, and the raw honesty there nearly broke her. "I wanted you to know that what I feel for you has nothing to do with bloodlines or abilities. That I would choose you even if you had no magic at all."
Her chest constricted.
She wanted to go to him. Wanted to close the distance and let him hold her and pretend this conversation didn't matter.
But it did matter.
"I believe you." Her voice cracked. "But you still should have told me. You don't get to decide what I can handle. Not about my own identity. Not about my family."
He flinched at the word family. His hand came up to the back of his neck.
"I know. I'm sorry."
She wiped the tears from her cheeks. She hadn't even realized she was crying.
"I need time," she said. "To think."
She moved toward the door. Her hands were shaking.
"Brynn." His voice stopped her at the door. She didn't turn around. "I should have trusted you with all of this sooner. That's on me. I never wanted to hurt you.”
She stood there for a long moment. Hearing the desperation underneath his careful words. Feeling his shadows hovering at the edges of her awareness, reaching for her and then pulling back.
"I know," she said quietly. And she did. That was what made this hurt so much. She wasn't angry because she thought he'd used her.She was angry because he'd made choices about her life without her. Because he'd decided what she needed to know and when.
She opened the door.
