“And that just… happens?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve been—what? Dealing with that on your own?”
“Yes.”
The word falls like a stone.
I frown. “Since when?” Maybe this is normal for his species and something that happens when they hit puberty.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Since you arrived in Terrafeara.”
I go still, my eyes popping wide. “What?”
“It began then.”
Ten years.The number hits me like a punch to the ribs. That and I’m the one who started the whole thing.“You’re telling me you’ve been dealing with that for ten years?”
“Yes.”
“And I’ve never—” I gesture vaguely. “Felt it?”
“No.”
“How?”
His answer is simple. “I contained it.”
I stare at him, because that thing I felt—just for a second—that wasn’t something you justcontain. “That didn’t feel containable,” I say.
“It is not easy,” he replies.
There’s no pride or bravado in his tone. Just fact.
I shake my head slightly. “Then how the hell?—”
“Discipline,” he says. “Distance. Control.” His voice catches slightly on the last word. “And pain.”
That stops me. “What?” I’m struggling to process everything he’s saying.
He doesn’t look away. “When it is not sated, it causes pain.”
The words settle heavy between us, but my heart stutters at the wordsated.
I swallow. Because I felt pain. It was layered under the heat, threaded through it like something constant and biting.
“You’ve been in pain?” I ask quietly, my gut lurching.
“Yes.”
“For ten years?”
“Yes.”
Something twists in my chest. It’s tight and uncomfortable. Familiar in all the worst ways. “And you didn’t think to mention that?” I demand, more severely than I intend.
“It was not your responsibility.”
