Page 84 of Iron Beneath the Snow

It felt… awake.

Soren stepped back first, not abruptly, but with clear intent, as though distance had to be rebuilt rather than simply taken.

The cold returned between them.

He remained where he was, not moving immediately.

“Healers,” he said.

Only then did others approach.

As they guided her toward the inner hall, Eira allowed herself one last glance back.

He hadn’t moved. He was still watching.

And for the first time since she had known him, control did not look effortless.

Chapter 23: Under Skin

Eira

The cut was shallow.

They told her that more than once, though she stopped listening after the second repetition. The words began to lose shape, dissolving into something automatic, something meant to reassure her whether it reflected truth or not.

She sat on the edge of the low wooden bench in the infirmary alcove while one of Ironfang’s healers worked in steady silence, rinsing the blood from her arm. The water was warm, carrying the sharp scent of crushed pine and something bitter underneath it, a note that lingered at the back of her throat when she breathed.

The pain itself was manageable.

It was everything beneath it that refused to quiet.

The mark had not fully settled. It pulsed at slow, uneven intervals, as though something within it was still adjusting, still remembering what had passed through it.

“You should rest,” the healer said at last, tying off the bandage with practiced care.

“I will,” Eira replied, though she had no intention of doing so immediately.

The healer studied her for a moment, as if deciding whether to press further, then stepped away without another word. The alcove emptied gradually, the quiet returning not all at once, but in layers—voices fading into the hall, movement dispersing, the mountain slipping back into its usual rhythm.

Only when she was alone did she allow her shoulders to lower, just slightly, the tension in them no longer held in place for anyone else’s benefit.

She exhaled.

It didn’t help as much as it should have.

Footsteps approached a few moments later—unhurried, distinct enough that she recognized them before they reached the threshold.

She did not turn.

Soren paused at the entrance, as if giving the space time to acknowledge him before he stepped inside.

“You’re cleared?” he asked.

“Yes.”

It was a simple answer, but it felt insufficient, as though it left too much unsaid.

He crossed the distance between them, and with him, something of the earlier heat returned—not as sharp as it had been in the courtyard, but present enough that she felt it before he came fully into reach.