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Now, hours later, I want to bridge the gap. Before I lose her.

I step cautiously into the long-forgotten cottage. My footsteps barely make a sound on the worn wooden floor as I study her.

Her tawny brown hair hangs in limp strands around her face, her green eyes duller than I’ve ever seen them; absent is the warmth that normally lights up a room. The spark that has always danced there is extinguished, replaced with a void so deep it chills me.

“Tri,” I croak, my voice rough and broken. She winces at her name, refusing to look up at me with those lifeless eyes. Eyes that are fixed on the Stone of Fál, bundled in her palm.

“You knew,” she whispers, the accusation sharp as a blade. Though her voice is barely audible, I feel the weight of it all the same.

I hesitate, unsure of what to say, unsure how to fix this. I join her on the floor, close enough that I can feel her warmth, but far enough not to intrude.

“You knew what he was going to do, and you didn’t tell me,” she accuses, her voice louder now, though still trembling. I still don’t respond—I can’t. What could I possibly say to make this better? To make it right. To undo the damage.

“You knew I was walking out of there without him. You knew he wasn’t coming back, and you didn’t tell me,” she spits, her voice shaking with rage. “You let me walk into Tara thinking we had a chance.” Her head snaps to me, her eyes finally meeting mine, and all I see is fury and despair there, like a storm raging in her soul.

“I couldnae tell ye, Tri.” I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath. It feels like the words are strangling me as they leave my throat, guilt and sorrow twisting together until I can hardly tell them apart. My heart aches, but hers—it’s shattered. And focusing on her pain, on her grief, is far easier than facing my own.

“There was no other way,” I say, my voice low. “That’s what he told me—right before we parted. ‘A soul for a soul.’”

Her face twists in disgust, but I see it—the moment she recognises the truth in those words. That was the prophecy, and the truth of what Finn had seen written on a pillar in some hazy vision. Five words that changed that course of our lives forever. Words he prepared to make true. Words he made me swear I’d honour.

His death was the cost.

Ignoring me, she presses on, her frustration spilling over. “Why didn’t you tell me, Callan?” Her voice cracks with despair and accusation. “I deserved to know. I deserved to fight for him.” The hurt in her voice hits me like a physical blow; filled with malice. Just an abyss of grief that’s threatening to swallow her whole.

“Because if I had told ye,” my voice is quiet but firm, “ye’d have stopped him. And he had to do this.”

Quickly moving from where she lay, to a seated position, she starts, voice trembling, “You’re right. I would have tried to stop him. I would’ve fought for him. I would have… I would’ve done something.” She bites her lip to stop the quivering, failing miserably. “But you robbed me of that. You didn’t even give me the chance.”

My fists clench, my nails biting into my palms, but it’s nothing compared to the agony in her voice—the same anguish that’s tearing me apart from the inside out. My breath shudders, my chest tight, and before I can stop myself, the words rip free.

“Do ye think I wanted this?” My voice cracks, rising despite the burn in my throat. “Do ye think I wanted to send him to his death while I stood outside, helpless, waitin’ for the inevitable? Do ye think I wanted to let ye believe he’d come home—to watch hope flicker in yer eyes when I kent the truth all along? Do ye think I wanted to watch ye shatter and ken there’s not a damn thing I can do to put ye back together?”

The silence that follows is deafening, thick with the weight of everything we’ve lost. My breath comes hard and fast, but it’s nothing compared to the way my chest feels—like I’ve ripped it open, like I’ve bared every wound I never wanted her to see.

“I didnae tell ye ‘cause I couldnae risk ye throwin’ yerself into a fight ye’d not walk away from. I had to protect ye.”

“Protect me? You consider this protection? I could have made a difference!” She shouts, the dam inside her shattering. “I could’ve… we could’ve found another way. He was right there, Callan. He was right there, and you left him!”

“There was no other way!” I say, voice breaking, pools of silver dancing in my eyes, hating how raw I sound. “Finn believed in something bigger than himself—bigger than all of us. And now we have to believe in it, too.”

“No!” Her voice cracks, raw and broken. “He did it for this bloody stone!” She hurls it across the room. It bounces off the wall and hits the floor with a force great enough to shatter the board upon impact. The light that shines through the linen it’s wrapped in flickers and dims. Almost as if it senses its distance from Triona.

“I want to hate you.” Her voice is raw, breaking apart. My stomach tightens, a sharp, twisting pain—because I know she means it. “I want to hate you so much, Callan. You knew I was walking out of there without him.”

My countenance falls, revealing the turmoil within. I feel broken—more broken than I’ve ever been; even in the wake of our parents’ passing.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, voice barely a breath in the stillness. “I’m truly sorry, Tri. But I couldnae let ye go, too.”

“It should have been me.” She chokes out, wiping furiously at her tears.

“Dinnae say that.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, my eyes narrowing with sudden anger. “Ye dinnae get to give up because he’s gone. D’ye think he did this for ye to shatter? So ye could throw yerself into the same darkness and stop fightin’?”

She flinches, as if my words are blades pressing into already-open wounds. “I don’t know how to keep going on without him, to draw breath in a world devoid of him,” she whispers, voice hollow. “I don’t know how to bear the weight of being the one he left behind.”

“I can see what Finn meant to ye.” My throat tightens, burning with the words I don’t know how to say. My fingers tremble before I reach out, steadying them at the last moment. She takes my hand, and that fragile connection is enough to keep me from breaking completely.

I draw in a shaky breath, forcing the rest out.