There’s something on his face I didn’t expect—not anger or even shock.
Something heavier. Something that looks a lot like pain held so long it carved into bone.
Drazan takes a step forward. The movement is small and clearly deliberate, but Kael reacts instantly.
His shoulders rise. His stance shifts. His hand flexes like he’s ready to close it around something that isn’t there.
“Stop,” one of the others says sharply, but Drazan doesn’t listen.
He takes another step. Not threatening. Forward toward Kael.
His eyes narrow, and for a second I see it.
Clear, raw rage.
Not the cold, calculated anger he’s shown before. This is different.
I don’t need to understand everything to know there is some deep history between them or to feel how dangerous this moment is. They aren’t seeing the others. They aren’t seeing me. It’s just them.
Two males who know each other. Who share a history.
Two males who look like they’re one heartbeat away from tearing into each other.
I shift closer to Kael. I don’t touch him yet, but I stay close enough that if he moves, I can reach him.
His breath hitches. A low sound rumbles in his chest.
Not quite a growl—close.
Drazan stops. The distance between them is small. Too small.
His eyes move over Kael’s face, then his injuries, then back again.
Something breaks across his expression for a fraction of a second—so fast I almost miss it.
Grief. Real, unguarded grief.
Kael sees it. Instead of easing him, it seems to ignite something worse.
“You—”
The word is rough. Raw. The sound of it cuts straight through the silence.
No one else moves. No one else breathes. Even the wind seems to still.
Kael takes a step forward. Drazan doesn’t back up.
The space between them goes from tense to explosive.
I feel it like a strike waiting to land.
I don’t know if the next move will be a blow or a breaking.
28
KAELRETH
The distance between us is nothing. A step. Close enough for a strike. Not enough to think.
