I didn’t say my father’s name. I didn’t have to.
Aric looked away for a long time. Then finally, softly, “Maybe I don’t want to be anything else.”
I think that’s when I touched his hand. Or maybe he touched mine. It doesn’t matter who moved first. What mattered was that it happened.
Just once. Just enough.
His hand was warm. Mine was shaking.
I don’t remember what we said after that. I just remember the silence. The kind that feels heavy with things you’re not ready to want.
We didn’t kiss. We didn’t even hug.
But something passed between us—something that scared us both enough to pretend it never happened.
And then the wind changed.
A gust tore across the shoreline, scattering shells and sand like something had exhaled from the depths. The air dropped ten degrees in a breath.
Behind us, the tide stopped. Froze. A sheet of frost crept out from where Aric sat, then across the wet sand—thin, precise, a vein of ice snaking toward the rocks.
Confusion, and maybe a hint of fear, shone in Aric’s eyes as they briefly flashed white. He yanked his hand back like he’d been burned. Or broken. His hands shook after that. He stared at them, at the frost, like it was a death sentence.
“Go,” he said. His voice wasn’t cruel—but it was cold. Final.
I remember walking away, not turning back, not asking why the sea looked wrong or why my fingers felt numb.
I didn’t know then what we’d triggered.
But I do know swift rejection of the betrothal followed, and while I expected my father to be angry, instead he was almost…pleased, like the whole thing had been a setup and they played right into his hands. He didn’t care how embarrassed I was.
I think about Laufey’s note.
About the frost Aric created from our held hands.
Getting close to him and finding Mjölnir.
He either knows and is hiding it from the world…or he’s going to need a little help to remember.
I almost laugh. Well played, Father. If Aric knows what he is, then I was just sent to the wolves. He would die before telling my father a word.
So Odinfather is banking on my ability to crack him, to gain trust, to inspire loyalty—all the things I barely have within my own family, let alone with my enemy.
I sigh and try not to throw something. This isn’t a quest; it’s a hunt.
And hunters always forget one thing. Sooner or later, the hunted learn to hunt back.
Chapter Eleven
Rey
For a moment, I want to call my father. Tell him where he can shove Mjölnir.
But I won’t.
Nothing’s changed. I always knew this mission would likely end with me dead. The only question was how. And now I know: most likely by a massive Giant pulling my arms from my body.
As long as Laufey walks away from Odin unscathed, I’ll count that as a win.
