Rell dropped to the bed, dagger clattering to the floor. He felt like he’d been gutted, left empty and seething in a way that made him want to punch through walls until his knuckles bled.
"Fuck," he whispered to the walls. To himself.
Every instinct screamed at him to go after them, to do something reckless and stupid like he used to. He could find them again—if not by tracking them directly, then by shaking down every contact and lead until someone talked. But what if she didn’t want to be found?
She didn’t even look at him. She didn’t choose him.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest tight—too goddamn tight—like it might explode or cave in.
He slammed his fist against the wall, once, hissing at the pain it left in his hand.
He rose from the bed with a jerk, his mind already racing ahead to what came next. Thorn would have people searching for him by now, and Rell had already stayed in Kilfaire too long. It was only a matter of time before one of those bastards sniffed out the Hive’s hideout.
He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t risk the Hive getting caught in his own shitstorm. This whole mission had already cost them the Ravenpoint hideout.
Aszona. The Hive's headquarters. That's where he needed to be right now. Back to mercenary work, where rules were clear and personal feelings didn’t get you burnt. Something familiar.
He grabbed his bag, half-full with essentials—spare clothes, loose currency, a flask of dark liquor—and strapped it across his back.
His stomach twisted at the thought of leaving her behind, but he forced it down. Going after her meant going into Al’teran territory. Enemies on every side. He’d be dead before he got close. She’d be deeper in by now—in the heart of their goddamn realm. In Viliam’s arms.
No. Whatever this was with Elora, whatever he felt for her, it didn’t matter now.
Chapter 49
Violette
The familiar stone corridors of The Hive felt different somehow as they made their way back through them. Perhaps it was the weight of what they'd just done—killing Rylok, leaving his son with the old woman who'd looked at them like they were the monsters. Because they were. Maybe it was the hollow way Symond's footsteps echoed beside her, too light, too easy.
Violette glanced at him as they walked. He looked... peaceful. That should have been a relief. For nearly two months, she'd watched him carry his trauma like a second skin, bristling and bitter, lashing out at anyone who got too close. The nightmares that had him pacing the halls at all hours. The way his hands would shake when he thought no one was looking.
Now his shoulders were relaxed, his stride confident. He even hummed under his breath. When was the last time she'd heard him make any sound that wasn't sharp with pain or anger?
It was wrong. All of it.
"You're staring," he said without looking at her, and there was something almost playful in his voice.
"Just thinking." Violette kept her tone neutral, professional. But her mind was racing, cataloging all the ways this felt off. The way he'd held himself during their debrief with the other Hivemembers—too casual, too open. The way he'd laughed at Darnel’s jokes. Actuallylaughed, not that bitter bark she was used to.
They reached the common area, and she watched him settle into one of the worn leather chairs by a window. He looked like he belonged there, like he'd always been at ease in his own skin. It should have been a good thing.
"Violette. You've been watching me like I'm about to snap since we got back. What's wrong?"
What's wrong?Everything. But how could she explain that to someone who'd deliberately severed himself from the very experiences that would help him understand?
Violette took the chair across from him, choosing her words carefully. "I'm concerned about what you've done to yourself."
His brow furrowed, genuine confusion in his eyes. "What I've done? I feel better than I have in years. Isn't that what matters?"
"No," she said, sharper than she intended. "It's not."
The confusion deepened. "I don't understand. You've seen how I was before—angry, lashing out, barely sleeping. Now I feel... calm. Centered. Why would that worry you?"
Violette leaned forward, studying his face. There it was still a flicker of something beneath the surface. His body shifted almost imperceptibly away from her, a defensive response he wasn't even aware of making.
"Because healing and forgetting aren't the same thing," she said quietly.
He opened his mouth to argue, but she held up a hand. "Let me ask you something. Do you remember why you joined The Hive?"
