Varek looks at me. There’s no surprise in his expression. He seems to be measuring the weight of what I’ve said. “Yes.”
He doesn’t pretend otherwise. He doesn’t soften it. The honesty of that should make it easier. It doesn’t.
“The rebellion needs you,” I add, forcing my tone into something practical. “Sounds like things are finally moving in the right direction.”
“They are.”
His voice is quiet, but there’s a current of purpose running beneath it now. Shanae’s news has already begun settling into place in his mind, Varek reshaping plans and possibilities the way a battlefield commander studies terrain.
“The prince’s support changes the balance of power,” he continues. “And the knowledge contained in those scrolls may give us the advantage we have lacked.”
I nod because he’s right.
For the first time since the rebellion started, the pieces are beginning to align. Aelith’s influence within the Glowranth courts, Kael’s loyalty as his guard captain, Solan’s raw power as a warrior—all of it adds weight to a cause that until recently had been little more than scattered resistance.
And now there’s the research and the older texts. The books from the citadel, which apparently contain knowledge about the rifts themselves. That means the fight is about to become something more significant than survival.
Varek looks back towards the exit where Shanae vanished. “I will leave shortly.”
Panic pulls my chest. It’s ridiculous. I knew this was coming the moment she mentioned Dawson waking up and the progress with the scrolls. The rebellion is gathering momentum, and Varek is the one person who knows how to turn that momentum into something real.
Of course he has to go back.
Still. The thought of the warehouse without him in it feels… wrong.
I push the feeling aside. “How long will you be gone?”
“One week.”
I glance up at him quickly. “Only a week?”
“It is the longest I am willing to risk.” His eyes hold mine. “The bond remains incomplete.”
Yeah. I know. Even the short stretches we’ve spent apart these past weeks have carried that dull ache beneath the ribs, like a pulled muscle that never quite heals.
A week…
“That might be pushing it,” I mutter.
“Yes.”
There’s no point in me pretending the bond doesn’t exist or that it doesn’t matter.
The silence stretches.
“You should come with me,” he says, trying again to convince me.
I shake my head before he can finish the thought. “No.”
“Pax—”
“I have work here.” He knows this, and the words come out harder this time, but not angry, just certain.
Varek studies my face for a long moment. Then he nods, catching up with the reality that there is no changing my mind. “I know.”
There’s no argument. No attempt to convince me otherwise. Which somehow makes the moment feel heavier instead of lighter.
“Promise me something,” he says.
