Just… sad.
“No. It’s lonely,” he whispers. “And you’re not stronger for it, Jax. You’re… alone.”
Silence detonates between them.
Neither moves.
Neither looks away.
Two survival strategies staring at each other across the wreckage.
Joy and control.
Light and defense.
Connection and certainty.
Then Jax says the cruelest thing she can think of. Because she has to regain ground.
“Maybe feelings don’t suit you after all, Ronyn. You’re easier when you’re joking.”
He nods once. Very small. Very quiet.
“Yeah…” He takes a breath.“And you’renevereasy.”
Silence again. Longer this time. No winner. No resolution. Just two people who finally said what they were never supposed to say out loud.
Ronyn pulls on his leather pants and throws a tunic on quickly. “I’ll stay somewhere else. Execute as planned tomorrow,” he strides toward the door, gripping the door knob, and swinging his bow and quiver over his shoulder. “Or don’t. I know you’ll do it your way, regardless.”
He waits for her to say something.
To stop him, to mock him, to throw another blade.
But the silence behind him never breaks.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Fight the wolf. Wear its skin
Then face the one that waits within
Kael breathes deeply.No longer trapped behind glass. No longer clawing to the forefront of himself.
The Decay has receded, though it’s not gone. He can feel it there, buried deep in his bones, trying to lure him further inside himself to trap him below water again. And somehow that frightens him more.Monsters that retreat usually return hungrier.
He shakes the feeling from his mind, as if it’s nothing but a thought. As if it isn’t embedded into the very fabric of him.
Now, he pulls Elyssara into him, tucking her into his side, dragging slow, tender strokes through her hair as her cheek rests peacefully on his chest.
Be here. Be here. Be here.
Because every moment he spends happy now feels stolen from something waiting to destroy him.
He tries to force himself into the present. To take in this scene in all its beauty—the woman he loves draped over his body, the safety of Rhaema’s bathhouse, the aftermath of bliss. The steady sway of the candlelight lulls him into rest, steam softening the air, and they sink deeper into the furs, exhales lengthening.
But Elyssara isn’t fooled.
“I can hear you thinking from here, Kael,” she says softly, huffing a quiet laugh.
