But she didn’t belong to him.
And she wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life seeking the affection he claimed he never intended to hide, yet had kept securely locked away behind his barriers of control.
∞∞∞
The trees were growing sparse now, their trunks standing farther apart. Elora could feel the forest releasing its hold on them, the dense canopy opening to reveal patches of pale sky. They were almost through. Soon, the woods would give way to open countryside, and beyond that—Kilfaire.
Elora sat in front of Rell on the horse, her back pressed against his chest. The rhythmic clopping of hooves broke the stillness, mingling with the soft crunch of fallen leaves beneath them. The quiet felt heavy, weighted with things unsaid. Last night lingered between them—impossible to ignore but too delicate to touch directly.
Elora's fingers worried at the edge of her brown cloak, the familiar texture grounding her as her thoughts spiraled. She could feel Rell's gaze settling on her, burning a hole in the back of her head. Was he regretting it? The kiss had been impulsive, born from adrenaline and fear and something deeper. Lust. Desire. But in the cold light of morning, maybe it felt like a mistake.
The thought hollowed out her chest. She had spent so long learning to guard herself, to keep the vulnerable parts locked away. But with Rell, those defenses crumbled without her permission. Itwas dangerous, this growing attachment to someone she would have to leave behind. Kilfaire meant separation—he had his life with The Hive, and she... she had Tehvan waiting, and whatever uncertain future stretched beyond that.
Maybe it would be easier if he regretted it. If whatever was building between them could be severed cleanly before it grew too deep to extract without bleeding.
"How long have you had that cloak?"
Of all the things she'd expected him to address—last night, her confessions, their approaching separation—her cloak hadn't even been on the list.
"What?" she asked, pulling the worn fabric tighter around herself.
Rell's gray eyes were fixed on the brown wool with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. "Your cloak. How long have you had it?"
The question felt loaded somehow, though she couldn't understand why. Her fingers traced the familiar fabric, feeling the places where it had worn thin, where careful mending had kept it whole.
"Always," she said quietly. "For as long as I can remember."
The words unlocked something in her chest—a flood of memories she rarely allowed herself to examine. "I had it when the Snatchers sold me to Tehvan. I was wearing it then."
Her voice grew smaller, more distant. "Tehvan tried to throw it away. Said it was dirty, that it reminded me of bad things. But I..." She shook her head, a rueful smile ghosting across her lips. "I threw the biggest tantrum. Screamed until my throat was raw, wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep. I think I actually bit him once."
The memory was both vivid and hazy—a child's desperate fury at losing the one constant thing in a world that had repeatedly torn everything away. "He couldn't understand why I wanted to keep something tied to what I'd been through. Honestly, I couldn't explain it either. I just... needed it."
She fell silent, her fingers still working at the threadbare fabric. The cloak had been her companion through every transformation, every trauma. It had absorbed her tears, been her blanket when nightmares came, her shield when the world felt too sharp. It was ratty and worn and probably worthless to anyone else, but it was hers in a way that felt fundamental.
"I still need it," she admitted, so quietly she wasn't sure he'd heard.
Rell was quiet for a long moment, she was sure he’d just dropped the subject. When he spoke again, his voice was careful, measured.
"You know, with your skills... you could probably brew a memory potion. Unblock whatever's locked away from before the Snatchers."
She shot him a sharp look over her shoulder, but he wasn't meeting her eyes anymore, his attention seemingly focused on the path ahead.
"Don’t you want to know?" he continued, almost casually. "Where you came from. Your real name. Your parents."
The words hit her like cold water. Her fingers tightened on the cloak, the familiar fabric suddenly feeling less like comfort and more like armor.
"No," she said quietly. "I don't want to know."
"Really? You're not even curious?"
She'd had this conversation before, with herself, mostly. Late at night when sleep wouldn't come and her mind wandered to dangerous places.
"I've considered it," she admitted finally. "Several times, actually. Tehvan offered to make me one when I was younger. And then when I got to memory potions in my lessons, the idea came back around."
She paused, watching a bird flit between the branches overhead. "But every time I think about it... I remember what I do know. My parents sold me. From somewhere up north. They'd sold some of my siblings before me too." Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "That's it. That's all I know."
Rell was listening intently now, his usual smirk nowhere to be found.
