"I didn't choose this."
Her voice did not rise.
It broke.
Soft enough to be mistaken for restraint.
Sharp enough to cut through the storm.
Rain lashed against the balcony stone, wind clawing at her sleeves as though even the night itself sought to pull her back from something she had already begun to resist.
"I didn't choose the sigil," Elara said again.
Didn't choose the blood.
Didn't choose the treaty signed before she was born.
Didn't choose—
Him.
The bond stirred.
Low.
Unsteady.
Alive.
---
"You think I did?" Alessandro replied quietly.
Her laugh was brittle.
"Oh, please."
Lightning flashed across the valley.
"You knew," she continued. "You knew what I was when I arrived."
"I knew what you might be."
"That's worse."
Silence.
Because potential—
Was still expectation.
And expectation—
Was still pressure.
The hum beneath her ribs deepened.
Ugh.
---
"You protected me," she said.
"Yes."
"But you also needed me."
"That is not why—"
