“You have nothing to apologize for.Nothing.” He kept his voice steady, but the edge still seeped in. “I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through.” He hesitated, then exhaled. “I should’ve thought it through. I should’ve known my touch might startle you. That’s on me, not you.”
His jaw tightened—not with anger, but with quiet resolve to tread carefully. To be someone she would never have to flinch away from.
“But thank you,” he added, voice lower now. “For telling me.”
She exhaled softly, and even though she did not speak, the tension between them eased.
They walked on, silence stretching—but now, it carried a different weight. It no longer pressed down, no longer held the sharp edge of hesitation. Instead, it felt measured, expectant. The kind of silence that lingered when words were no longer necessary.
The heaviness in Alarik’s chest was replaced by something quieter, something solid.
As they neared the Xians’ fire, he loathed to let the moment end.The night had cooled, but Reiya’s presence left behind a trace of warmth, minute yet insistent.
They stopped a short distance from the wagon, firelight flickering against the curve of her face.
“I’ll say goodnight, Yara,” he said.
She looked up, her expression unreadable. Something flickered in her eyes—something lingering just beneath the surface, just out of reach.
“Good night, Lark.”
The words hung between them, softer than they should’ve been, like an unfinished thought.
He stayed a moment too long, watching as she slipped into the shadows behind the wagon. The hush of the camp settled around him, night falling into its slow rhythm.
Only when she was gone did he turn away, his steps measured, the quiet crunch of gravel beneath his boots the only sound.
Chapter Twenty-Four
REIYANA
Reiya inhaled the crisp morning air, laced with the fading traces of woodsmoke and the damp scent of dew on canvas. Around her, the caravan slowly stirred—pots clinking, the occasional bray of a mule, low voices drifting between tents. The rhythm of her daily life was becoming familiar, grounding as she made her way to the well, bucket in hand.
Fetching water had become her task—a simple but steady ritual. Ru Rong needed it for tea, Su Lian for cooking breakfast. It tethered her to something practical, a reminder that she contributed; not as an Omega to be sheltered, but as someone useful.
She nearly reached the well when a hulking figure stepped into her path.
Jodhar.
His arms crossed lazily over his chest, that same mocking smirk tugging at his lips. A few of his mercenary friends lingered nearby, watching with thinly veiled amusement.
“Recovered from yesterday, have you?” Jodhar mused, his gaze flicking lazily over her. “Braver than you look, baby bird.”
Her jaw tightened at the moniker, but she kept her expression neutral.Baby bird. How very condescending itsounded, the way it stripped her of dignity, reducing her to something small, fragile, helpless.
Her grip tightened around the bucket, knuckles white as she met his gaze, chin lifting. “Will you step aside?”
Jodhar’s grin only widened. She shifted sideways, but he mirrored her, blocking the path with ease. His eyes gleamed, voice low and taunting.
“Bold little bird. Think you’re better than everyone?”
“Not everyone. Just Alphas who think harassing others is a good use of their time.”
Laughter rumbled from his companions. One let out a low whistle, clearly entertained. Her pulse quickened, but she held his gaze. “Now, if you’re finished, let me pass.”
Jodhar leaned in, his voice dropping to a gravelly rumble. “Careful, baby bird. Easy to go missing out here . . . especially an Omega who forgets her place.”
Anger flared beneath the surface, heart thudding against her ribs. Her hand twitched toward the blade hidden in her pocket. “Are you threatening me?”
