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Finn’s expression darkens further, a shadow falling over his face. He grips the man’s tunic tighter, dragging him closer with terrifying ease. “No names, no faces? Just a girl’s word and gold in yer pocket? And her blood,” he spews, pointing at me, “her blood on yer disgustin’ hands.”

The assassin whimpers, his body convulsing in pain, but Finn doesn’t waver. His voice drops to a low, dangerous murmur. “So here’s what’s gonna happen now.” He kneels, his presence towering even as he crouches. “I’m leavin’ you to fate. Ye’ll feel every bit of pain you tried to put on her. Ye’re gonna die alone in the dirt. And I hope you find just as much misery in yer eternal life.”

Finn rises with a deliberate finality, the man letting out a faint, sputtering sound as his hand weakly reaches toward Finn. But Finn doesn’t look back. He grabs my arm, his touch firm but steady, and leads me away without another word.

I glance back only once, just long enough to see the man writhing in the dirt, gasping for air as his life ebbs away. A hollow pit forms in my stomach, but it isn’t sympathy that fills it—only relief that he’ll hurt no one again.

“Finn,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart as we put distance between ourselves and the scene.

He turns to me abruptly, his eyes gleaming with the same fire that had driven his fury. But as his gaze meets mine, something shifts. The flames dim, replaced by something softer—wounded, familiar.

“It’s more than he deserves,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

I step forward, placing a trembling hand on his arm. His skin is hot to the touch, his muscles still tense beneath my fingers.

“I thought I’d been too late to you,” he murmurs, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “When I heard you scream, I—” He breaks off, eyes dropping to the ground as though he can’t bear the thought.

“You weren’t,” I breathe, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “I’m right here. I’m safe. Right here with you.”

Tentatively, I step closer, sliding my hands upward until they rest lightly around his neck. His breath hitches, his eyes lifting to meet mine again. Slowly, as though testing the reality of my presence, his hands settle at my waist. His grip is gentle, but there’s a desperation in the way his fingers curl slightly, grounding himself in this moment.

He exhales sharply, his body sagging as the weight of my words settle him. “I’ll let no one hurt you, Triona,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Not while I’m still breathing.”

His lips part to say more, but no words come. Instead, he leans forward, forehead resting against mine. The proximity is electric, our breaths mingling in the forest’s stillness.

“I’d die for you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’d kill for you, too.”

“You’ll never have to make that choice,” I reply, my voice just as quiet, my heart thundering in my chest.

When we break apart, his eyes search mine, his hands lingering on my waist, the touch mooring me as much as I hoped mine did for him.

“Let’s get back,” he murmurs after a moment, his voice steadier now.

Without a word, he offers me his hand. His fingers curl around mine with a gentle strength, the kind that says more than words ever could. There’s no hesitation, no uncertainty in his grip.

Together, we step further into the darkness, leaving the blood and horror behind us. But as Finn’s grip tightens on my hand, I know we carry something else with us—something unbreakable.

20

The Language of Touch

Triona

The moment we step out of the dense forest, the cool night air hits my skin like a balm. I hear him before I see him.

“Triona!” Callan comes barreling toward us, his face a mixture of fury and relief. His arms wrap around me in a crushing embrace, so tight I can barely breathe.

“Never run off like that again!” He exclaims, voice raw and trembling with an emotion that isn’t entirely anger. “How could ye ever think that was a good idea?”

“I—I’m sorry,” I stammer, my voice cracking. “I didn’t mean for—”

“Sorry?” he growls, pulling back just enough to grip my shoulders and scrutinise me. “Ye’re filthy! What in the name of all that’s divine happened in there? And where—” His voice breaks off as his eyes dart to the edge of the clearing.

Shadow.

Callan exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face.

“Of course he returns now.” I say, my voice soft and laced with frustration.