The words stayed with him longer than the confrontation itself.
Ressa's voice on the open street—*you played with her heart and then walked away*—had landed cleaner than any blade. Aiden sat in the single room above the toolmaker's shop after dark and turned the sentence over without flinching from it.
He had been clear. The nights had been the nights. Attachment had formed on Sera's side alone, and he had cut it the moment he recognized the weight. That much remained true.
Yet the accusation had found a seam. He had left the farmstead to keep the road his and to avoid exactly this kind of entanglement. Clarity did not always prevent the other person from carrying something heavier out of the same nights.
The ordered power under his skin stayed level. The key against his ribs remained quiet. The discomfort was not power or hunger. It was simpler and less convenient.
