I turned to the water, my gaze caught by the bright orange hues of the sky reflected on its surface.
“Jane?” Reagan’s murmur came from my right, and I realised he was beside me, his gaze fixed on the horizon as well. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, narrowing my eyes on him, on the softer tone. “Do you resent humans because of the conflict?”
He met my gaze, brows drawn, tendons standing out along his jaw.
“I don’t resent humans for a centuries-old war or the actions of a few,” he said, his voice carrying on the wind. “I think I would have liked to live when there was no Shroud and when there was still peace.”
It surprised me to hear that. Not because I thought Reagan bore anything against humans; I’d never felt that from him. But I had assumed he was content with the current reality.
I’d assumed a lot.
“Why would you want that?” I asked.
He exhaled. “Even after the war, what happened to some families was tragic. They were forced to be separated from their loved ones.” His gaze darkened. “Their families were lost. The resentment is still there. The prejudice still exists today. It’s hard to think we made people grieve, that we tore families apart, only for the hatred to stay. But it was the only way to end a war.”
My chest tightened. I recalled something Reagan had said to me once.
Do you have any idea what would happen if humans found out about us again?
His reaction no longer seemed so callous. Not at all.
“That’s why you didn’t want my presence here,” I said. “You were worried.”
His jaw tightened, though the look in his eyes confirmed it.
“I should’ve realised you wouldn’t grasp the gravity of it,” he admitted. “I grew up hearing about the war. You didn’t.”
I swallowed. His voice was low, threaded with regret, and the weight of it pressed against my senses until I could almost taste the sorrow.
“That sounds awful. I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
Reagan went still, just barely, and didn’t look away from me. “You’re sorry. For what?”
“It sounds like you’re worse off for knowing,” I said. “For having to live with it. I don’t know if ignorance is a mercy or...a weakness. You know?”
Reagan let out a quiet breath. He didn’t answer right away, but his lips twitched.
“Any time I see a human, it’s never for anything good,” he murmured, as though he’d spoken without meaning to. “I’m almost waiting for something awful. But I can’t see why you would be.”
I wondered what those other moments were, what had taught him to expect the worst.
He was utterly still, studying me.
A stronger wave broke at my feet, pulling me back to the present. More than half my skirt was soaked, the fabric clinging stubbornly to my legs. I lifted it, twisting to wring out the water, but only succeeded in creasing the material.
With a sigh, I let it fall, and the damp cloth wrapped around my legs again.
Fingers brushed through my hair, drawing my attention. Reagan was tucking my hair behind my ear, absorbed by the stray lock sliding down his fingertips.
A slap might have been less shocking.
He spoke in a soft voice. “Don’t worry about the skirt. I’m sure Cerridwen stocked you with plenty of spares.”
“I know,” I breathed, my voice seeming to vanish.
His fingers grazed my shoulder as he let the loose strands fall.
