No defense. No argument. Just that.
Kael’s shoulders jerk, like the answer hits harder than anything else.
“You—” he starts again, but whatever he was going to say doesn’t come.
Something changes.
I feel it before I understand it. The tension doesn’t disappear, but it shifts.
His grip loosens just slightly—not releasing, but no longer crushing, no longer driven by that same violent edge.
Drazan lifts one hand. Slow. Careful. Like he’s approaching something dangerous. Like he knows one wrong move could shatter this completely.
For a second, I think he’s going to push Kael away. Instead, he grabs his wrist. Not to break the hold. To steady it. To ground it.
“I thought you were dead. That you…” Drazan chokes, pauses, swallows, then continues. “…died saving me.”
Kael goes completely still. Not frozen. Stopped.
Because I feel this is it.
The moment everything breaks or changes.
Kael’s head lifts slowly.
His eyes search Drazan’s face like he’s trying to find something that doesn’t match what he’s been holding onto. What he’s been told. What he believed.
“You didn’t leave,” he says.
It’s not a question, but it isn’t acceptance either.
Drazan shakes his head once.
“No.”
The word is quiet and certain. For the first time since I’ve known Kael, I see doubt in him.
Real doubt. Not hesitation. Not calculation. Something is breaking open.
His hand finally loosens.
Enough that it isn’t about hurting him, but about keeping contact.
My throat tightens because I realize I’m not watching a fight. This is something else. Something that might hurt worse than any blow. I don’t think either of them will come out of it the same.
Drazan tightens his grip on Kael’s wrist.
The silence stretches too long. Too heavy.
Kael stares into Drazan’s eyes, searching. His mouth works, his wings rustle. He growls, low in his throat, and I’m not sure if it’s a good sign or not.
The weight of a dozen eyes is on them. Watching. Waiting. Ready to react, but none of us is sure what that will be.
“Brother...” Drazan says, his voice low and rough.
What?
My mouth goes dry as the world tilts.
