Patches of mist slithered between the rocks, not heavy enough to hide us, but enough to blur the edges of the world. It made the horizon shift, giving distorted distances. The muffled sounds echoed around the mountain as we walked cautiously.
Ahead, the ocean shimmered beyond the ridge. Distant and unreachable. A strip of ghost-blue against the jagged edge of the sky.
No birds. No beasts. Just the wind and the brittle crunch of our boots on fractured stone.
Erindor walked at the front, shoulders tight, and head lowered. He wasn’t scanning for threats, but carrying them. Irecognized that posture now. That stiff, coiled gait meant his thoughts were loud and clear. He moved only like that when he was building walls inside himself.
And judging by the weight in the surrounding air, they were high.
I hated those walls.
“Wyn?” Jasira’s voice came from behind, soft and careful.
“I need a minute,” I said, already veering off the trail a little.
I didn’t wait for permission. Just angled away from the others toward a narrow, crumbling outcrop that jutted from the ridgeline. Not far, but far enough to feel alone. A place where I could breathe. Or try to. The wind hit harder there, sweeping in from the distant sea, tugging at my cloak like it wanted me to fly or fall.
I didn’t look back, but I sensed her pause. Jasira’s soft intake of breath. Then a nod.
The others kept walking, their footsteps crunching against loose stone.
Except for him.
I felt him pause without even looking. Heard the hitch in his step, the shift of his boots as he stopped at the fork in the path, uncertain. The silence between us buzzed like static. I waited. Maybe he’d stay with them for once. Perhaps he’d listen.
“Do you want—”
“No.” The word came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t take it back. Didn’t soften it.
“I want you to keep walking, Princess.”
Silence. For a moment, I thought I’d pushed him too far. But then the sound of his footsteps drew nearer.
He could never leave me alone. Not when it mattered.
“What is it?” he questioned, his voice dropping, almost swallowed by the sudden tension.
I turned slowly to face him, and it hurt to look, not because he’d done anything unforgivable, but because he hadn’t trusted me enough to do anything else.
“What is it?” I echoed, arms folding over my chest. “You tell me.”
He said nothing.
“I’m not a child, Erindor.”
“I never said you were.”
“No, but you act like I’ll shatter if you tell me the truth.” My throat was tight. “You shut me out again. After everything.”
His brows pinched, and his arms stayed at his sides, tense. I knew that expression was the struggle between silence and confession. Silence always won.
“I am trying to protect you,” he said finally, his jaw clenched.
“From what?” I snapped. “From you? From what you used to be?”
A flinch; subtle, but there.
“You think I can’t handle it? That I’m too soft or too naïve?” I took a step forward, trembling. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
