He froze for a second, like he hadn’t dared to hope I’d ask. Then his fingers brushed the back of my neck, warm and careful as he clasped the chain. I closed my eyes.
”Should I…leave?” Aran murmured in the background of my heartbeat thundering. ”Yeah. I’ll leave you to it.” he said as I heard him backing away.
“You actually soared?” Will asked, as soon as we were alone. “Gods, I can’t believe I missed it.”
His fingers were still at the back of my neck, lingering for a moment longer than necessary.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit distant lately. It’s not you. It’s just, it’s been a lot.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” I said. “It’s been a lot for all of us. And I’m here for you, okay? Always.”
His expression broke, and I saw the cracks he’d been holding together all day.
“Gods,” he breathed. “I don’t fucking deserve you.”
I reached for his hand, wrapping my fingers around it and running my thumb gently across his knuckles.
“Stop,” I whispered, stepping closer. My other hand rose to his cheek. “Please. I’m sorry for what I said too. It wasn’t fair for me to be angry with you for leaving. And if you’re still blaming yourself for it... please stop. For me.”
He leaned into my touch like he needed it.
“I’ll stop if you do.” He said. It almost sounded like a dare.
“IfIdo?”
“I didn’t hear everything,” he said. “But I heard Aran say that you couldn’t have saved them. And he’s right. The asshole’s actually right for once, and you need to know that. I need you to hear that. What the Vultures did, that’s on them. Not you. Never you.”
He opened his arms, just a little, like an invitation he didn’t expect me to take. And I caved. I stepped into him and folded myself into the space I’d missed more than I could admit. His arms wrapped around me, warm and steady, and I melted into the safety of them like I’d never left. And I wasn’t scared either, not of the fire, not of hurting him, not of whatever the hel I was becoming. Because right then, in his arms, none of it mattered.
His embrace felt like home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I kept heeding the woman’s advice, and it was working. I was learning how to let the fire out, and each time it got easier. With time, maybe I’d feel safe enough to sleep at an inn again. Maybe I could stop fearing myself.
The woman moved through her garden barefoot, the hem of her dress trailing through the grass. When she crouched by a patch of tangled stems, I saw a curved blade flash in her hand. She snipped a single flower, its petals a pale blue, like moonlight. She carried it back to the blackened kettle hanging over glowing coals and, without a word, dropped the bloom into the simmering water.
I wasn’t sure where Will and Aran had gone. They were somewhere in the garden still, giving me a moment alone with the woman. Aran had been so thrilled to go back there, and I think even Will was starting to see that it was helping.Or maybe he was just waiting to see if I’d levitate again.
“This will help with focus,” the woman said.
The steam smelled sweet, but strange. Something between honey and liquor. She poured the tea into two cups and set them on the table between us. The brew wasn’t dark like the last. It had a faint blue hue to it, and maybe it was weird that I trusted her, that I drank what she served for me. But the one she’d given me before had donesomething. It had made it easier to feel, almost as if it dug up everything I’d buried and dragged it to the surface. I don’t know why she needed it though.
”You drink it too?” I asked.
She didn’t look at me, just blew gently across the surface of her cup.
“You’re not the only one who needs clarity,” she said.
I wrapped my hands around the cup and the warmth soaked into my skin as I took a cautious sip. It tasted like grass, with a bitter bite beneath it. I was still wondering about what the woman had really seen. What her visions had shown her. What they hadn’t.
“Your advice helped,” I murmured, bringing the cup back to my lips. “I did it.”
“Did what?”
I hesitated, my fingers curling tighter around the cup. I’d thought she’d already know. Maybe she didn’t see everything. Just… flashes. Moments.
“I controlled the fire,” I replied. “Burned a flower. And a tree.”
