The fire pops, sending sparks up the chimney. My throat feels tight.
“Exile,” I repeat softly.
Henrik nods. “When your own people turn their back on you, it marks you deeper than any blade. He’s been chasing something he can’t name ever since. Power, property, progress. Maybe all of it, maybe none. But I’ve seen the way he studies this lodge. It’s not just land to him. It reminds him of what he lost. Of firelight and family. Belonging.”
I sink into the nearest chair, the cocoa mug still warm in my hands though I’ve long since stopped drinking. My mind spins with his words, with the weight of them.
“You sound like you pity him,” I say, though it comes out weaker than I intend.
Henrik shakes his head. “Not pity. Respect. A man who’s been broken and still stands is worth respecting. But a man who’s been broken and finds something—or someone—that makes him remember what it felt like before? That’s dangerous. Because he’ll fight himself harder than he fights anyone else.”
I stare into the fire until my vision blurs, flames dancing in the wetness I refuse to let fall.
What do I really know about him? A handful of glares, too many arguments, a kiss that stole my breath, a night that still sings in my skin, and silence where truth should be.
And maybe silence has been the sharpest blade of all.
That night, as I climb the stairs, I pause at the window on the landing. The snow has stopped at last, leaving the world quiet, every branch heavy, every rooftop capped in white. The ridge glimmers under moonlight, the lodge creaking softly in the cold.
Somewhere out there, he’s walking these same streets, carrying ghosts I can’t name, scars I’ve never seen. And though I tell myself I hate him, that I want him gone, that I can’t forgivewhat I heard, my heart betrays me with a single, unbearable thought.
Maybe I don’t know him at all.
And maybe I want to.
CHAPTER 20
DRALGOR
The bridge is slick with frost, the rails rimmed in white, the creek half-iced below, groaning softly as the current pushes against its shell. I stand on the south end with the folder in my hand, the contract that’s been a noose around both our necks. The sky is heavy, clouds pressing low, light dimming though it’s not yet evening.
I hear her before I see her, boots crunching, breath steady, that deliberate stride of hers that never wastes a step. Clara comes around the bend from the ridge, shoulders squared, chin high, coat buttoned tight. She slows when she sees me, not out of fear, but because she’s calculating. That’s who she is, never moves blind.
“Bridge is public,” she says, stopping just short of the first plank.
“So am I,” I answer, voice low. “I asked you to come. You came.”
“Henrik said you had something to explain. Otherwise I’d have kept walking.” Her mouth sets firm. “I’m not here for another round of excuses.”
“I’m not here to give any.”
I hold the folder out. She takes it after a pause, fingers brushing mine for half a second before she snatches them back like she touched fire. She opens it, eyes scanning quick, efficient. When she gets to the last page and sees the blank line where my name should sit, her brows draw together.
“It’s unsigned,” I say. “And it’ll stay that way if you want it to.”
Her gaze cuts to mine, sharp enough to wound. “Then why did Thomas stand in my kitchen and say the opposite? Why did I hear him call this place temporary, like none of it mattered?”
“Because he wanted you to. He twisted what I left unsaid. He’s gone now. I fired him.”
“That doesn’t erase what I heard,” she snaps.
“No,” I admit. “It doesn’t. But I’ll give you the truth now, whether you want it or not.”
I step closer, boots creaking on the wood. The wind off the creek bites hard, but I don’t feel it. “I was exiled. My clan cast me out for ambition when they wanted obedience. They called me a traitor because I wanted to build more than they were willing to risk. I’ve been walking ever since, building walls, towers, contracts, anything that made me untouchable. Power was safer than hunger. Safer than family. Safer than wanting.”
Her grip tightens on the folder, knuckles white.
“When I came here, this lodge was supposed to be another line on a ledger. Tear it down, raise something profitable, move on. That was the plan. But then you stood in front of me, spitting fire, refusing to bend, and I saw something I hadn’t seen in years. A fight that wasn’t about power. A fight about belonging. And I hated you for it, because it made me remember what I’d buried.”
