“Does it feel different?”
“Yes and no,” I said as I poured water into the pots. “I feel no hold, no call, but I can’t say I feel nothing.”
I didn’t have to look at him to know he moved a step closer. Feet still separated us, but the hairs on my arm stood on end at the small movement.
“That’s a good start.”
My back was to him. I knew I had to face him. But, oh, I really didn’t want to. Under his gaze, I had always felt exposed. He had always seen too much, pierced whatever cover I thought I held in place for the rest of the city. I didn’t want to do this—didn’t want to discuss whatever we thought might lead to a revelation of our deepest sadness.
But I could do hard things.
With a final tip of the water glass, spilling its contents into the remaining pot, I turned. As I did so, my other hand went to the pendant beneath my blouse. Its light wasn’t visible through the wrapping and my clothing, but now that I understood it, I thought we’d know if it worked by sense alone. “How do you want to do this?”
It might have been my imagination, but I could almost pretend he was going easy on me with the way he searched theshowroom instead of letting his green eyes sift through every thought that crossed my face. “You tell me, Chaos.”
Did my heart race at the sound of the stupid name? Yes. Did I never want to hear it again? Maybe. I didn’t want to feel any of the things I did when Hart was involved. That was the problem, wasn’t it? In this very room, most mornings, Alaric had pushed me to trust my gut. My default state was to overthink, overanalyze, and look at things from every angle. What this trial asked of me, I wasn’t sure I could give.
Especially not to him.
“You brought me here. What did you think was going to happen?” I took a deep breath and stepped toward him. I knew my words weren’t fair. We had both agreed to attempt these stupid trials. With the knowledge that Vaddon and Themis were up to something, it felt more urgent. But I felt caged, like Alysa’s bird in one of the Storm’s tents. I wanted out. What was worse, I didn’t even know what steps to take to get there.
Think about Alaric? Feel sad that he was gone?
I’d done that every day—every hour—since the throne room. His loss wasn’t my deepest sadness, it was simply a part of my being.
Hart’s focus shifted to me with my next step toward him. He stiffened near imperceptibly. Could he be as uncomfortable as I was? It hadn’t truly set in that he had to do this, too. I’d been so focused on my own failings—my own inability to feel. The thought that Hart had just as much to do here as I did curved my lip infinitesimally.
He looked pained, as if he might retreat.
“I don’t need to be in Alaric’s workshop to think about my uncle. Do you?”
“This won’t work,” he mumbled as he leaned back and gripped the shop counter.
I huffed a dry laugh at how quickly he gave up. Finishedwith the watering can, I brushed past him, behind the gold curtain.
“Chaos.” It was a whisper on his breath. I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear it.
The metal rings that held the curtain in place slid across the bar, a clear sign Hart followed. Good. The workshop was where I spent my time. I imagined the same held true for Hart. One of us had to try. We had no other options. It wasn’t only our fates on the line. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, Hart and I were Kavios’s one chance for change.
We failed to free more than ourselves if we didn’t accomplish these trials.
“This is where my entire journey began. Alaric was the only one who invested in me, who thought me worth teaching. Now he’s gone. Do you expect my tears to flood the room?” I turned to face Hart again. This time, his gaze met mine, and something salty coated my tongue. It mingled almost immediately with the minty flavor of Hart’s sadness. Hart was both worried and saddened, but still, he let me lead him around Alaric’s workshop.
I was no longer sure I held a single ounce of control here. In fact, I wondered if I ever had, or if he’d only let me think I had.
“Do you want them to?” His voice was rich and smooth and reminded me of the first day I’d seen him from the workbench mirror. I wanted to be rid of the memory.
“You want me to tell you I’m devastated that my uncle is gone?” I threw my arms out to gesture to the empty workspace. “You want me to cry in front of you? Will that help?”
His expression didn’t change—not a single twitch as he matched me step for step around my uncle’s space. It was infuriating.
“This can’t be my deepest sadness. My anger at his secrets, my despair that he’s gone, my confusion over how he thoughtthis would all play out. It’s not a one-time pain to focus on, it’s a constant barrage to survive. Grieving my uncle will take a lifetime.”
“Neither of us thought this would be easy,” he said quietly.
“Should I be happy to know he did so much to protect me? Should I find joy in the life he tried to provide?” I bit my lip to stop the tears that rimmed my eyes. “I don’t even know if I’m thankful. I just wish I had more time with him to find out.”
Hart’s steady gaze was maddening. I wanted to shake him. I wanted a reaction from him. Before I could say more, the front door to the shop jingled.
