“Do I?” I force a smile. “Must be the altitude.”
He doesn’t buy it for a second, but before he can push, Finn approaches. My heart does a stupid little leap of hope—maybe I was wrong, maybe nothing’s changed, maybe—
“Kaia.” His voice is carefully neutral. Polite. “You should eat something. Long flight ahead.”
He hands me a piece of travel bread, our fingers not quite touching, and something in my chest cracks. This is Finn—chaotic, tactile, never-met-a-boundary-he-wouldn’t-cross Finn—being careful not to touch me.
“Thanks,” I manage, accepting the bread.
He nods and turns away, back toward where Malrik is examining our route on an ancient map. No lingering grin. No ridiculous comment about the bread’s personality or the way the sunlight hits my hair.
Just… politeness.
I watch him go, noting the way his shoulders relax as he rejoins Malrik’s side. The easy way they fall into conversation. The space they create that doesn’t include me.
Mouse nuzzles my cheek, his warmth a small comfort against the growing cold in my chest.
“They used to fight for my attention,” I whisper to him, the words barely audible. “Now I think they’re fighting to forget me.”
The worst part? I can’t even blame them.
Maybe this is what I deserve for taking so long to figure out what I wanted. For being too scared to choose, too paralyzed by the fear of hurting someone to risk reaching for what I actually needed.
Now it looks like the choice has been made for me.
And I’m not part of it at all.
Chapter 38
Kieran
Kieran
The golden light of dusk stretches everything into distortion.
Long shadows cling to the mountain path like fingers reaching for something they'll never grasp. The air itself feels unstable, caught between day and night, neither one thing nor another. Much like everything else lately.
I ride at the edge of our formation, close enough to maintain the illusion of leadership but far enough that I don't have to watch. Don't have to see the careful way Aspen checks on her, or the protective stance Torric maintains at her flank, or the way Malrik and Finn have somehow found their rhythm without me.
Withouther.
The bond pulses in my chest, dormant but present. A reminder of what I've lost. What I never truly had. I could reach for it—test the connection, see if she'd respond—but I don't. Reaching means vulnerability, and I've been burned enough for one lifetime.
My shadows ripple restlessly around my horse's hooves, responding to tension I can't quite control. They want to surge forward, to wrap around her like they used to, but I hold them back. She doesn't need my shadows. She has theirs.
She hasthem.
Walter materializes beside me, his small form bobbing gently in the space between my horse and the rocky outcropping. He doesn't speak—Walter never speaks—but his presence carries a weight of understanding that I'm not ready to accept.
"Not now," I mutter, but he persists, drifting closer until he's nearly touching my boot.
Something inside me snaps.
My shadows explode outward without warning, a violent surge of power that sends Walter tumbling through the air. He recovers quickly, ever graceful, but the hurt in his strange little form is unmistakable.
"I said not now," I growl, louder than I intended.
The others glance back, concern flickering across their faces. Kaia's violet eyes find mine, and for a moment I see something that might be worry. But then Torric says something that makes her laugh, and her attention shifts away.
