“Elora,” he said again, stepping toward her.
She didn’t answer. Didn’t even flinch.
He reached out gently, fingers brushing her elbow, trying to coax her to stand.
She jerked away, not violently, just enough to make her boundary clear. Her eyes didn’t meet his, but she stood slowly on her own, moving like her limbs were too heavy.
“Is it your shift?” he asked quietly, watching the slight tremble in her hands. “You’ve been in it too long. You should shift back.”
Her head gave the smallest shake. No.
And then she turned. Not a word. Just the whisper of footsteps as she started walking toward camp—slow and unsteady, like she wasn’t sure where her body ended and the blood on the ground began.
Rell didn’t press. He just followed, a few steps behind, watching her shoulders, her fists, the twitch in her jaw. He didn’t say a word.
Chapter 33
Elora
Elora sat curled near the fire, her knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them. The crackle of the flames licked at the silence, throwing shadows across the hollow of the clearing. They’d covered good ground since the fight, enough to feel like the Snatchers were far behind them now, but not enough to shake them from her thoughts.
She hadn’t said much since they left the bodies behind. Hadn’t shifted back either. The animal in her felt safer than the girl.
She stared into the fire, the heat biting at her face, but she didn’t move. Her thoughts were burning too—too many and too much. And none of them would sit still.
The scent of something savory crept into her senses before she realized Rell had moved. Then a warm bowl was pressed into her hands.
She blinked down at it. Stew. Or something close to it. He’d cooked. When had he—?
“What’s wrong?” He crouched nearby, poking at the fire with a stick, his eyes on the flames but his attention all hers.
“I don’t know,” she said finally, and her voice came out lower than she expected. Rough. “Everything. Nothing. Maybe both.” Shewasn’t sure how to explain it. The thoughts weren’t in a line, they weren’t even in the same room. But they were loud.
“I wanted to kill them,” she said quietly. “I still want to. I wanted to feel their throats tear under my claws. And I know they deserve it. Iknowthat.” Her jaw tensed. “That’s the worst part. That Idon’tfeel bad.”
Rell said nothing. Just listened.
“I didn’t feel scared when you snapped that man’s head against the rock,” she added, voice even quieter. “I should’ve, right? You were ruthless. Brutal. But thatcrunch…”
Rell didn’t respond.
“My earliest memory is inside one of those cages. I don’t even know how old I was. But I remember the cold, and the dark, and how the hay smelled like blood. I remember the chains. I remember being touched like I wasn’t human.” She swallowed. “So why do I feel like I’ve lost something by wanting justice for that?”
“Morality,” Rell said, his voice rougher than the underbrush. “Fuckin’ inconvenient.” He stopped poking at the fire, his gaze shifting to her. “You haven’t lost a damn thing.”
Elora kept her gaze on the flames, her body still coiled in on itself, but she could feel his attention shift when he dropped the mask of relaxed mercenary and let something real seep through.
"My father died when I was young. We had a farm—a small place, nothing much. But it was home." He began poking the fire again. "After he was gone, things went downhill fast. And when the Snatchers came… my mother made a choice." He tossed the stick into the flames. "She sold my sister to them. Said it was necessary to keep us alive through the winter."
Elora’s hands tightened around the bowl. She knew she should say something, but words felt like they’d only make it worse.
“I tracked every Snatcher I could find throughout Adruimor.” He leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. “I spent every damn day trying to find her," he went on. “Trying to make up for not saving her back then.”
“And you’re still looking?”
Rell shook his head. “Not anymore.” His jaw clenched, and he looked away from the fire, away from her, into the dark woods beyond. “I started hunting them like animals. No longer for answers. Just because someone needed to. Just because they exist.”
“All those kills I’ve made since?” he said. “Some of them felt good.Toogood. And then you stop feeling anything at all. That’s what it does. You chase justice so hard, it starts rotting inside you. You forget why you started. You tell yourself you’re protecting people, saving lives, but really… you’re just surviving.”
