She turns fully then, dark eyes finding mine.
There is fear there.
Of course, there is.
Only fools walk unafraid into war.
But beneath it—beneath the tremor of worry, the sharp spike of potential loss—there is something else.
Resolve.
“You hate leaving me,” she says quietly.
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “Every stone in this place hates it too. They’re loud about it.”
A breath of a smile ghosts across her lips.
“I don’t love it either, Lord of Dirt.”
Heat flickers through my chest at the teasing title. I should growl. I nearly do.
Her gaze softens.
She’s still talking, but all I can hear is the echo of her fear under the words.
“But I get it,” she says, voice steady in that way that makes my chest ache. “People are in danger. That Dreamwright? She’s like the one person with the password to a very important, very magical mainframe. If Idris gets into her head, it’s game over.”
“Game over,” I repeat, tasting the phrase.
Trust Oona to turn the fate of Nightfall into something about machines and passwords and systems.
Somehow it makes more sense that way.
“Earth phrase,” she adds with a faint, crooked smile. “But yeah. I understand. You have to go.”
The zareth between us sings—one sharp, aching note.
Like a string pulled too tight.
She closes the distance without hesitation, pressing her palm flat against my chest, right over my heart.
Everything goes quiet.
The Barrow.
The Marches under my boots.
Even the restless roots in the walls.
My entire domain holds its breath as if waiting to hear what I’ll do.
“I have to go,” I say, because there is no use lying to her. “And you must remain safe.”
She snorts. Actually snorts. “You know that word safe is going to be a problem for me, right?”
If I were a different male, I might laugh. As it is, my mouth curves, just a little.
“It is important you understand that I know I do not deserve you,” I murmur instead. The truth scrapes my throat on the way out. “Not your courage. Not your faith. Not this bond.”
