I do. Her eyes hold mine, and I see my own horror reflected back.
“We don’t let her.” Imara’s voice is fierce. Low. “Whatever she plans, whatever she wants to take from us—we don’t let her have it.”
“How?” The word is broken. “She’s been planning this for decades. Centuries. We’re two people against?—”
“Two people who already destroyed her quarterly sacrifice and killed a dozen of her guards.” Imara steps closer. “Two people she’s worried enough about that she’s reaching out with promises instead of threats.”
“She’s not worried about us.”
“She’s terrified of what we represent.” Another step. She’s close now—close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body, can smell that sharp-clean scent beneath the blood and exhaustion. “We’re proof that her system can break. That the tools she creates can turn against her. If we can escape—truly escape—others will try. Her whole structure depends on the belief that rebellion is impossible.”
I process this. Feel a shift in my gut.
“You think we can win.”
“I think we have to try.” Her hand rises. Hovers near my face. “I think dying free is better than living as her property. And I think?—”
She stops. Her hand trembles, suspended between us.
“I think if anyone’s going to claim what I could create, it should be me.” She lowers her voice. “My choice. My body. My—” She stumbles over the word. “My future.”
The rage in my chest transforms. Becomes something that burns just as hot but doesn’t demand destruction.
I reach up. Take her hovering hand. Press it against my scarred cheek.
Her palm is warm against my skin. I can feel her pulse beating into my jaw, that quick flutter of blood in her veins. Not fear. Something else.
“Nothing of ours.” I hear myself say the words. Feel their truth settle into my bones. “She can have nothing of ours. Not our blood. Not our bodies. Not anything we might?—”
I can’t say the word. Can’t name what I’m starting to feel. But I see Imara’s breath catch, see her eyes widen slightly, see something in her expression that matches the sensation in my chest.
Her answer is in her face. A vow. A promise.
I lean into her touch. The first time I’ve ever sought comfort from another person. The first time I’ve ever trusted someone enough to show vulnerability.
Her thumb traces my cheekbone. Gentle. So gentle it almost hurts.
“Kharvek.” My name is a whisper.
I pull her closer
NINETEEN
KHARVEK
This is deliberate—a choice we’re both making with full knowledge of what it means. Her body fits against mine, small and warm and alive, and when her lips meet my scarred mouth, the sensation floods through every nerve.
She tastes of exhaustion and fear and sweetness underneath. I drink it in. Memorize it. This moment, this choice, this woman who looked at a monster and chose to stay.
My hands find her waist. Hers curl around my neck. We hold each other in the dim cave light, two damaged people choosing each other despite everything.
When we finally pull apart, her forehead rests against my chest. Her breath comes quick, warming my skin through my thin shirt.
“We should rest.” Her voice is rough. “While we can.”
“Yes.”
Neither of us moves.
