“Do you have a name?”
He hesitated, as if he didn’t want to tell me.
“Sy.” He said finally.
I watched him uncertainly. “You’ve been at the lake with me.”
He nodded.
“And the other night. You were the dragon.”
His gaze locked onto mine — unblinking, heavy, as if his eyes carried entire centuries behind them.
He nodded once. Slow. Controlled.
Like he was confirming more than a fact —
like he was acknowledging a truth he’d hidden from the world for far too long.
The forest felt suddenly smaller around us.
I swallowed. “How long have you been watching me?”
He didn’t shift, didn’t fidget, didn’t look away.
Dragons didn’t, I realised.
Theyobserved.
“Since the first night you came to the lake,” he said. His voice was low, deep, threaded with something that hummed against my skin. “You walked through my territory without fear.”
“That’s not true,” I whispered. “I’m afraid of everything.”
His lips twitched — almost a smile.
“Not of me.”
The poultice cooled my jaw, but heat flooded my chest.
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, huge hands hanging relaxed between them.
“Most people run from me,” he said. “Or they try to hunt me. You just… sat.”
I huffed a breath. “I was tired.”
“I know.” His voice softened. “I could smell it.”
My cheeks warmed. “You can smell… tired?”
He almost laughed — almost.
“A great many things.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or terrified.
Maybe both.
He watched me another long moment, as if the sight of my bruised face angered him more than he’d ever admit.
