Elowen POV
By the third night, the longing stops being quiet.
It settles into my bones, a constant ache that doesn't fade no matter how far I walk. I tell myself I'm tired. Hungry. Stressed.
But my body knows the truth.
I miss him the way one misses air only after being submerged too long.
Lyra walks ahead of me, her presence both comfort and warning. Sometimes I catch her watching me when she thinks I'm not looking, her expression distant—calculating.
"You're unraveling," she says suddenly, without turning.
I flinch. "I'm managing."
"That's not the same thing."
I stop walking.
"I didn't leave to fall apart," I snap. "I left to become someone who isn't afraid of her own heart."
Lyra finally turns, studying me with that unnerving calm. "And are you?"
The answer lodges painfully in my throat.
At night, when the fire burns low, my thoughts drift back to him uninvited. The way his voice softened only for me. The way he always stood between me and the world, even when I begged him not to.
The way he never touched me.
Gods, that restraint still haunts me.
I press my thighs together, breath hitching in frustration, heat coiling low in my stomach that has nothing to do with magic. I hate my body for remembering. For wanting.
"I won't go back," I whisper to the fire.
It flares softly, uncertain.
I'm lying—to it, or to myself.
Kael POV
The reports are getting worse.
Cult activity along the eastern routes. Sigils burned into stone. Messengers disappearing. Everything points to escalation—and they are doing it slowly, deliberately.
Because they want me distracted.
They want me afraid.
They want me desperate enough to make a mistake.
I stare at the map, Elowen's last known position marked in ash. Too far from any stronghold. Too exposed.
"She's strong," I mutter.
But strength doesn't stop manipulation.
I feel her restless tonight—an undercurrent of heat and confusion thrumming faintly through the bond. It takes every shred of control I have not to follow it blindly.
If I go to her now, it won't be for protection.
It will be because I need her.
And that is not love.
That is hunger.
I drag a hand down my face, claws scraping briefly against skin before I force them back.
"She deserves choice," I say aloud.
Even if that choice costs me everything.
Elowen POV
The crossroads town is small. Forgettable. Exactly the kind of place the cult likes.
The moment we step inside, the air feels wrong—too still, too watchful. Conversations hush as we pass. Eyes linger.
My power tightens, alert.
"Don't react," Lyra murmurs. "They want spectacle."
"I won't give them one," I reply.
But my pulse is racing.
We secure a room at the inn. As soon as the door shuts, I sag against it, breath shaking.
"They're close," I whisper.
Lyra nods. "Yes."
"Are you going to warn me this time," I demand, "or just let it happen again?"
Something flickers across her face—regret, maybe. Or resolve.
"They won't take you tonight," she says. "Tonight is about pressure."
I laugh bitterly. "That's comforting."
Later, alone in the narrow bed, I stare at the ceiling and finally allow myself to think the thought I've been avoiding.
If Kael were here, I'd feel safe.
The realization is sharp and humiliating.
I don't want safety that cages me.
But I don't want freedom that feels this empty either.
Tears slip silently into my hair.
"I don't know how to want you without losing myself," I whisper.
The fire flickers—warm, steady.
Listening.
Kael POV
The bond spikes suddenly.
Fear.
Not terror—anticipation.
They're testing her.
That's enough.
I don't teleport to her side.
I don't storm the road in flame.
Instead, I make a choice just as dangerous.
I send word.
Orders ripple outward through shadow and fire—silent watchers repositioned, cult routes severed, pressure applied without revealing my hand.
If they want to corner her, they'll have to do it knowing I'm watching.
Closely.
And if she feels it—this invisible net tightening around her enemies—I hope she understands.
I'm not chasing her.
I'm guarding her freedom from afar.
Even if it kills me.
Elowen POV
Just before sleep takes me, warmth curls gently around my ribs—not fire, not magic.
Familiar.
Restrained.
My breath catches.
"He's near," I whisper.
Lyra stiffens across the room, eyes narrowing.
"No," she says slowly. "He isn't."
But the warmth remains.
Not claiming.
Not pulling.
Just… there.
For the first time since I left, I don't feel alone.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
Because if he can protect me without touching me—
What excuse do I have left to keep running?