When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. He rests his forehead against mine, his hands still tangled in my hair.
“We should go,” he says quietly, but he doesn’t move away.
“Should we?” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
Instead of answering, he straightens my shirt with careful hands, his touch lingering longer than necessary. The simple gesture feels more intimate than everything that came before it.
“We’re still going to pretend nothing happened, aren’t we?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want the answer.
“Only if you ask me to.”
I don’t answer. Can’t answer. Because the truth is, I don’t want to pretend. I want this, whatever this is, to be real.
We walk back toward the courtyard together, not touching but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. There’s a new tension between us now, quiet and dangerous and completely undeniable.
And for the first time since the bond locked without me, I don’t feel quite so alone.
Chapter 37
Kaia
Kaia
The rhythm of Enif’s hoofbeats against the mountain path should be soothing.
It’s not.
We’ve been riding for hours, the sanctuary shrinking to a distant speck behind us, but something feels wrong. Not the usual wrongness of riding into danger—I’m getting used to that. This is different. Personal.
I shift in my seat, Mouse’s warm weight across my shoulders the only thing keeping me grounded. My shadows coil restlessly around Enif’s legs, their movements sharp and agitated in ways that mirror the knot forming in my chest.
“Easy,” I murmur to them, but they don’t settle.
Because they feel it too.
Kieran leads our formation, his golden eyes scanning the horizon with military precision. Torric and Aspen flank me on either side, close enough to protect but not so close as to crowd. Everything looks normal. Everythingshouldbe normal.
Except Finn is nowhere near me.
He rides at the back with Malrik, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he’s not talking. Not grinning. Not making ridiculous observations about the landscape or trying to name the clouds. He just… rides. Silent. Distant.
And he won’t look at me.
I try to catch his eye, craning my neck to see past Torric’s broad shoulders. But every time I look back, Finn’s gaze is either fixed on the horizon or locked in quiet conversation with Malrik. Their heads bent together, voices too low to carry.
The sight makes something cold settle in my stomach.
My shadows sense it before I do, the shift in dynamics, the way the air between us all feels charged with unspoken tension. Patricia abandons her usual frantic note-taking to drift toward the back of our group, returning moments later with what I swear is shadowy concern radiating from her form.
“What?” I whisper, but she just flickers and rejoins the others.
Even Bob seems agitated, marching back toward Finn and Malrik’s position before returning to hover near my ankle with obvious displeasure. His usual military bearing is replaced by something that looks suspiciously like worry.
Mouse shifts against my neck, his violet eyes reflecting my unease. “Something’s changed,” I murmur to him, low enough that the others can’t hear.
He doesn’t disagree.
The wrongness builds as we ride, settling into my bones like a fever I can’t shake. I keep replaying the morning’s departure, looking for clues I might have missed. Finn had been there, helping with supplies, making his usual jokes about our chancesof survival. But now that I think about it, had he looked at me? Really looked?
