I make it halfway through a bowl of grain porridge before giving up and pushing away from the table.
"Where are you going?" Kaelen asks around a mouthful of bread.
"Zurkar needed help with something." Another lie. I'm collecting them like scars lately.
"Of course he did."
I ignore the knowing tone and head out before he can comment further, before I have to explain why I'm choosing dusty medical supplies over food and conversation. The path to the healing chambers is familiar now. I've walked it dozens of times over the past few days, always with some flimsy excuse about helping Zurkar organize herbs or checking on winter inventory.
The truth is I don't know why I keep returning. Just that staying away feels wrong in a way I can't articulate, like ignoring an itch that's slowly driving me insane.
The healing chamber door stands slightly ajar when I arrive. Voices drift through the gap—Zurkar's measured tone and Lola's softer responses, discussing treatment plans and recovery timelines. I push inside without announcing myself.
Zurkar glances up from grinding something in a stone mortar. "Rakk. Good timing. I need fresh water from the canyon spring."
"I brought some yesterday."
"And it's been used." He gestures toward empty buckets near his work table. "Healing requires constant supplies. Unless you'd prefer I let patients suffer for lack of clean water?"
The rebuke is gentle but pointed. I grab the buckets without arguing, grateful for a task that feels useful instead of invasive.
Lola's changing bandages on the sleeping platform where Serah lies motionless beneath layers of furs. The human woman's eyes track Lola's movements with sharp awareness, taking in every detail like she's cataloging potential threats. When those amber-hazel eyes shift to me, something in my chest constricts.
She looks like prey evaluating predators. Calculating odds, measuring distances to exits, preparing to bolt or fight depending on which option offers better survival chances.
I recognize that expression. Wore it myself for years before Zurkar taught me control, before I learned that my magic didn't have to be a curse if I could master it.
"The spring water," Zurkar repeats, drawing my attention back. "Before the sun gets too high and the path becomes unbearable."
Right. Water. I can manage water.
I leave before my magic can reach out again, before I can feel the edges of Serah's pain bleeding through proximity. The walk to the canyon spring takes longer than necessary because I deliberately slow my pace, breathing deep and forcing my awareness back into my own body instead of stretching toward hers.
Zurkar's warning echoes in memory:Deep emotional bonds could permanently tether you to another person's suffering. You'd feel everything they feel, experience every pain and fear as if it were your own. That kind of connection destroys the unprepared.
I've avoided touch my entire life because of that warning. Kept people at arm's length, cultivated a reputation for being jovial but distant. Let everyone assume I was simply picky about potential mates rather than terrified of forming bonds that could shatter me.
It's worked. For years, it's worked.
But now there's a human woman in Zurkar's healing chamber whose pain I've already tasted, whose suffering carved channels through my magic before I could stop it. And instead of running in the opposite direction like any sane person would, I keep finding excuses to return.
I fill the buckets at the spring and haul them back, muscles burning with the weight. The healing chamber feels warmer when I return, or maybe that's just my imagination. Lola'sgone now—probably resting after her overnight watch—leaving Zurkar alone with his patient.
Serah's eyes track me as I set the buckets down. Still wary. Still calculating. But she doesn't reach for weapons this time, doesn't tense like she's preparing to fight.
Progress, maybe. Or just exhaustion.
"Good." Zurkar doesn't look up from whatever he's preparing. "Now I need you to?—"
"Rakk." My father's voice cuts through the chamber like a blade. "We need to talk."
I turn to find Dad filling the doorway, obsidian eyes fixed on me with the kind of focus that means this conversation won't be pleasant. Behind him, late morning sunlight streams through the canyon, painting everything in harsh contrast.
"Now?" I keep my tone neutral, respectful. Thorne may be my father, but he's also Chieftain, and that distinction matters in clan spaces.
"Now."
Zurkar waves me off without comment, already absorbed in his work. I follow Dad out of the healing chamber and through the winding paths toward his dwelling. We don't speak during the walk. Don't need to. I know what this is about.
