His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, a secret just for the two of them. “I wanted to come.”
She let the silence grow teeth between them, then said: “Funny how 'wanting’ and 'doing’ are completely different things.”
Kael’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “I was afraid I'd make things worse.”
Alina nearly choked on a laugh, acrid and bitter in her mouth. “Worse? What, were you planning to set me on fire again? Because unless you brought a torch and some kindling, I think I was safe.”
He stepped closer, his warmth reaching her even through her coat. “You nearly died. I...” He trailed off, like someone had stolen the rest of his sentence.
She wanted to touch him, or punch him in the gut—or maybe even both. Instead, she jammed her hands in her pockets and studied the ground. “I'm not made of glass, you know.”
“You're not,” he agreed. “But I am.”
She snapped her head up. “You? Fragile? Please. You're about as breakable as a brick wall.”
He smiled, but it was as substantial as morning mist. “You only think that because you haven't seen me crack yet.”
They looked at each other, wordlessly, Alina staring, Kael’s golden gaze intense.
After a long moment, he shifted his weight, as if preparing to leave, only to stop and reach into the satchel slung at his side. He drew out a small tin and popped the lid, revealing a bright orange paste.
“In my old squad,” he said, “we’d paint ourselves before a fight. Not for luck. Just to remember that the body belongs to us, even when everything else is chaos.”
He extended the tin to her, palm up. “I can show you, if you want.”
Alina hesitated. It felt stupid, and a little bit desperate, but the truth was that she wanted him to stay. Here, beside her. If she turned him away now, she was afraid it would be final, and she was not ready for that. She was not finished with him, not in any way. So, she deliberately decided to ignore her anger and hurt about his absence from the infirmary and accept his flag of truce.
She nodded, and Kael smiled—with real warmth this time. He set the tin on a stump and dipped two fingers in, then motioned for her to sit.
“Sit down and roll up your sleeves.”
She obeyed, stripping the gloves and pushing her sleeves to the elbow. The air was icy on her skin, making it erupt in goosebumps. Kael knelt in front of her, hands careful as he spread the paste in a wide stripe from wrist to bicep. The sensation was a shock: the ointment was cool, almost cold, and his touch—gentle, but not tentative—left a line of fire behind.
Alina tried to focus on the forest, the distant voices, anything except the way her heart was suddenly beating so hard it hurt. Her eyes drifted shut for a moment. Kael drew another line, this one swirling up her forearm in a spiral, and the motion made her skin tighten, every fine hair standing at attention.
He looked up at her, eyes lit by something she’d only ever seen in the dark, in secret.
“You can do mine,” he said, his voice rough. “If you like.”
She reached for the tin, and her hand shook a little as she scooped up a dollop of paste and reached for his wrist. His skin was warm, the hair there soft as silk. She dragged her finger up, slowly, following the veins until she reached the crook of his elbow. He shivered, just a little, and the sight filled her with wicked joy.
They traded marks, each new line a tentative reconciliation. Sometimes their fingers brushed. Alina’s breath caught, and she didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry.
“You were angry,” Kael said, not a question.
“I still am,” she said, surprised at her own honesty. “Have you lost interest? Got what you wanted?”
His hand stilled on her arm. “No. Never.”
They sat like that, frozen in place, the night closing in around them. Kael’s thumb traced a circle on her skin, again and again.
“Why do you always hold back?” she whispered.
He tilted his head, as if seeing her for the first time. “I’m afraid of what will happen if I don’t. What I might do.”
Alina swallowed. “You don’t have to be.” What kind of demons was he fighting? Why couldn’t he open up to her?
The air between them was thick and charged. Kael leaned in, just enough that she could feel his breath on her face. She closed her eyes, waiting for him to close the distance, to say or do something to end the incessant, beautiful misery of wanting.
