My jaw clenched. She stepped back.
Just barely.
“You… chose to stay?”
The question tore through me—raw, unspoken.Why? What did he say to you? What did he promise? Safety? Power? A freedom I could never give?
I wanted to believe it was this place, its false promise of shelter, that made her stay—but when her eyes flicked to him, I saw it.
She nodded. Slow. Certain.
The thought that there could be something between her and Veyrion gutted me. Nerina was too good for me—I’d always known that. But she was better than him, too. Far better. He didn’t deserve her any more than I did.
I tried to laugh—dry, bitter—jealousy tasted like blood in my throat.
Veyrion just stood there, arms folded, watching me like a wolf that had already won. And then he opened his mouth.
“You should try letting her breathe sometime. Might surprise you what she’s capable of when no one’s tightening the chains.” he said, each word measured, precise. Cold—threaded with that satisfaction that comes from cutting along old scars. “But then…you always did have a hard time letting go, didn’t you?” The words landed where he meant them to.
I didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. I looked at her.
Her eyes fixed on him. She exhaled through her teeth. “Veyrion, you’re not helping.”
He didn’t flinch. His smile tilted—slow, deliberate, smug. “I wasn’t trying to.”
Rage surged in me, molten and rising. My hands flexed at my sides, aching for steel. I could feel the impulse riding my nerves, eager for permission. He wanted this. I saw it in his eyes—that flicker of anticipation, daring me to move first. To forget myself. To show her how easy it was for him to pull me apart. The monster disguised as a man.
It had always been like this between us: quiet wars laced in clever words. Brotherhood soured into rivalry. Trust curdled into betrayal. Every smile a threat, every memory a blade turned sideways.
Nerina stood in the middle. Between us—her presence a line neither of us would cross.
He knew it. That was why he was so calm. Arms folded, shoulders loose, as if he hadn’t just gutted me with words he’d been waiting years to say.
I hated him for it. Hated the ease, the poise, the quiet satisfaction that radiated from him.
He knew me too well. He knew exactly where to cut. Exactly how deep. Saints help me—he enjoyed watching me bleed.
“Enough.”
One word, and it froze the room more than any blade.
She turned to Veyrion, voice steady. Commanding. “Give us a moment. Please.”
His stare lingered longer than I liked. He could have pressed. He didn’t.
And that restraint felt deliberate—not kind.
Now it was just her and me.
The potion’s heat was already shifting in my veins, turning from burn to pressure—an hourglass I could feel.
She looked at me then. Really looked at me. And told me everything.
The Elders. The Crescent Artifact. The truth they’d shown her.
My hands trembled. I curled them into fists, nails biting into my palms until I felt the sting of blood.
She spoke of the Tidekeepers. Her mother. The lies. The way her power had been ripped from her—by the people she’d trusted. I tried to steady myself, but something caught somewhere between guilt and fury. Was I not just like them?
