Not the serene quiet that soothed, but the kind that came after being stripped bare, where nothing remained to fill the hollow spaces.
My throat burned, raw from screaming until my voice no longer came. My eyes ached from crying, my lids heavy and swollen. Every breath felt like it was dragging through my ribs. My body was lead, pulled down by exhaustion, but my mind . . .
My mind was mercifully, frighteningly still.
It didn’t replay the look of fury and betrayal on Brenton’s face when he’d been forced to stop me from burning him out.
It no longer replayed the moment Brenton’s magic surged through our bond. The way his smoke had wrapped around mine like a fist.
It stopped replaying the exact heartbeat the young boy’s light flickered and then . . . stopped.
It was too tired for torment. Too tired for grief.
There was only stillness and the soft snip of the scissors Everly used to even out the ends of my hair—what was left ofit after Kassidy had wrapped her fist around my hair and I’d severed it mid-fight.
Everly’s voice drifted toward me, as gentle as the breeze that swept from the open sea. But none of her words made it past the heavy numbness in my chest. The fire she’d built barely touched the bone-deep cold that had claimed me.
My fingers curled in my lap, my nails digging into my palms, reminding me I was still capable of hurting.
Ashara lay curled at my feet, her small, scaled body rising and falling with steady breaths. Her scales were a soft gray, like the sky before a storm, broken only by the thin white lines that shimmered faintly like spheres of fae light. Asleep, her wings were tucked close, the tips twitching every now and then.
I stared at her, at the way her tail curled over her feet, at the faint huff of breath, and the tension in me eased. Not healed. Not even close. But as if my soul recognized that at least one thing in this world wasn’t broken.
The bond between Ashara and me hummed, new and fragile but quiet and content. When I’d made it back to camp, she’d been waiting for me by my tent as she’d promised. When I lingered by Everly’s instead, she’d limped toward me, her eyes warm yet cautious. As if I might’ve changed my mind and would now turn her away. When her presence was the only thing keeping me tethered.
Which was more mercy than I deserved.
Because as much as Brenton had betrayed me, I’d betrayed him first.
I’d stood in that cave, ready to burn everything out. My magic. Zaicha’s. But also Brenton’s. I hadn’t thought about what it would do to him, how every pulse of magic was woven through our bond. Whatever I did to my magic, I did to his.
But as I reached deeper, both in the cave and again at the square, and Brenton’s smoke had torn through everything, I’d felt it.
The sharp edge of his fury.
The hollow echo of my own betrayal.
And now, here I sat, with his best friend cutting my hair and my dragon at my feet. Too tired to hate him, but not tired enough to mourn the fissure that existed between us.
Ashara shifted in her sleep, pressing her muzzle against my boot, but then her head snapped up, her focus on Brenton’s approaching silhouette. Her eyes caught on the campfire’s light with quiet warning. She didn’t growl, but her tail flicked in agitation.
Brenton froze a few paces from where I sat. His hair was a mess, his shirt disheveled and streaked with dirt and sand. His eyes found mine, hesitating before turning his attention to our tent.
His tent.
Hoshiko landed just behind the small firepit, folding his wings in a smooth sweep. Ashara jerked her head toward Hoshiko, uncertainty flashing across her bright eyes. She peered up at me as if asking for permission she didn’t need. She pushed herself up, her limp more pronounced than earlier, but her chin lifted all the same.
My willful, defiant littleAshara.She seemed to preen at my internal praise. She walked past Brenton with a quick flick of her tail that hit Brenton’s boot and made her way to Hoshiko, who snarled in warning.
“No.” Brenton turned toward his dragon. “A bonded dragon protects their rider as much as a rider protects their dragon.”
When Hoshiko lowered his head to Ashara, she answered with a soft rumble.
“Thank you for saving her and giving her a name,”Hoshiko said.
I didn’t reply. Didn’t have the words to.
Brenton’s gaze lingered on Ashara for long beats before he shifted his attention to me. His throat bobbed when he swallowed, and I hated that I noticed it.
