Her gaze dropped, thoughts tangling into a storm she hadn’t seen coming.
Why did it unsettle her so much?
She had regrets too—her past was hardly unblemished. She had no right to feel this raw twist beneath her ribs, no reason for the sharpness threading through her chest. Yet, the thought of being measured against a memory—against someone in their past—set her teeth on edge.
It shouldn’t matter.
Who cared about the first, so long as she could be the last?
But no amount of logic dulled the sting.
Kaelen reached for her again, his fingers brushing her cheek, coaxing her to look at him. She wanted to let him, to pretend none of this mattered.
But it did.
“I need to clear my head,” she said quietly, pulling away. “I’ll grab a shawl from the wagon. The desert night’s colder than I expected.”
He hesitated, his golden eyes scanning hers. She saw the protest in him, the instinct to keep her close. But after a beat, he clenched his jaw and nodded.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to return.”
She turned, each step carrying her further from the firelight, from the music, from the press of voices.
And from the past she hadn’t known she was walking into.
The wagon called, and she climbed the narrow steps, seeking its solace. She closed the door behind her. Shadows stretched long across the space, the faint glow of a torch filtering through the windows, casting flickering shapes on the walls.
Her eyes landed on the shawl draped over a low stool. She reached for it, the fabric slipping cool between her fingers, soft against her palm. As she wrapped it around her shoulders, her thoughts drifted back to Kaelen’s words—and the questions they left behind.
Who was this Annaïs, the one who’d held not just Kaelen’s heart, but Alarik’s as well? What had drawn them to her? Why had she done what she did?
The answers felt like threads she dared not pull, lest the whole tapestry of her understanding unravel.
A creak beneath her feet broke the silence as she turned toward the door, intending to rejoin the others. But the moment she took the first step, a low, rhythmic rattle sent a chill prickling down her nape.
She stilled.
The sound grew louder, more insistent. Slowly, she turned, her breath shallow, scanning the dim interior.
Her eyes caught a flicker of movement near the base of the stool.
Pulse slamming against her ribs, her eyes locked onto it: a sandshrike.
Its silver-scaled body coiled tight around one of the wooden legs,its narrow, triangular head raised, onyx eyes gleaming in the dim light. The sharp hiss of its rattle filled the space, a death knell vibrating through the stillness.
Reiya didn’t move.
Her instincts screamed at her to bolt—to leap for the door before it struck. Would she be fast enough?
The sandshrike lifted its head higher, tongue flicking, assessing her.
Her fingers curled into the shawl.Think, Reiya. Think.
Light, skipping footsteps approached, barely disturbing the quiet. A moment later, the wagon door swung open, flooding the space with light.
Mei Mei’s voice broke the stillness. “Yara, what are you?—”
A sharp gasp followed.
