Theron had just set a plate before her, and placed meat carved cleanly from the bone and bread unsoiled by wine on it… when Aveline saw it.
A fast movement. It was Henry.
He was charging at them, blood streaming from his mangled hand, dagger raised in the other. His face was no longer human in its expression. It was twisted, feral, desperate.
Aveline froze.
Her body reacted before her mind did.
Her shoulders caved inward. Her breath caught. She shrank instinctively, as though reducing herself might make her invisible. Years of beatings had carved that reflex into her bones.
Seeing the same look he had worn when he used to corner her… destabilized her.
But then… Theron moved.
He stepped in front of her in a single stride, broad back blocking her view entirely. The rich fabric of his cloak swept around her like a curtain closing.
She didn't think.
Her fingers clutched at the heavy embroidery, fisting into it. She pressed forward, instinctively seeking shelter in the solid warmth of him.
His back was wide. Steady and immovable.
For a fleeting, aching second, it felt like childhood, like hiding behind her mother's skirts when the governess scolded her, or when she had been caught teasing a certain dark-haired boy who would glare at her before secretly slipping her sweets later.
There was warmth… A soft, protective darkness, the kind that told a child the world could not reach her here.
A sharp crack followed; a sickening crunch.
Then Henry screamed.
Aveline flinched at the sound, but Theron did not move back. She felt the violent shift of his body instead, and heard the thud as Henry hit the ground.
Theron kicked him once.
Twice.
He would have continued, but Aveline was still clinging to him, half-hidden behind his cloak. His movement jarred her slightly, and he stilled at once.
The guards rushed in, seizing Henry, wrenching the dagger from his grip, and forcing him face-first against the floor.
Only then did Aveline loosen her hold. Slowly, she peeked around Theron's arm. Henry lay pinned, sobbing now instead of screaming.
"I don't want him to die now," she said quietly.
Theron turned to face her.
His chest was still rising and falling hard, anger radiating from him in waves. His eyes were dark, dangerous in a way she had not seen before.
She couldn't hold his gaze.
Her fingers slipped from his cloak as she bowed her head slightly.
"Why?" he asked.
There was no accusation in his tone. He was confused. He was ready to end it but why would she stop him?
She swallowed.
"Because if he dies… his suffering ends."
Her voice was steady, but her lashes lowered, cautious and unsure, as though she feared he might think her cruel. Or worse… weak.
For a moment, Theron simply stared at her.
Then… He laughed. His low and unrestrained laugh echoed in the hall. The sound startled the guards more than the violence had.
"Hold him," Theron ordered calmly. "We'll handle him after we finish dinner."
The guards tightened their grip.
Henry whimpered.
Theron held the plate out to her as though the hall were not littered with shattered porcelain and unconscious bodies.
"Eat," he said gently.
Then he served himself, selecting a few dishes with idle curiosity. "I think I'll try this," he added, taking a seat beside her as if they were merely attending a slightly unruly banquet.
Aveline didn't argue.
The food on her plate shimmered faintly in her vision: soft gold, warm and steady. That meant it was safe and nourishing. She began eating without ceremony, quick and focused, like someone accustomed to meals being taken away.
Halfway through her second bite, she noticed his plate.
Among the meats and breads were several green-glowing morsels threaded with faint red veins.
Her hand paused.
From childhood, the world had never looked quite the same to her as it did to others. Certain stones hummed with color. Certain foods gleamed or pulsed. She had once believed everyone saw it that way.
She had learned otherwise, the hard way.
Before she consciously decided to act, her fingers were already moving. She reached across, calmly plucked the red-veined pieces from Theron's plate, and transferred them onto hers.
As soon as they touched her plate, the red threads faded. The glow shifted to gold.
Whatever that was, it was safe for her, but not for him.
She didn't question it. Some things simply were. What harmed one might strengthen another. She had always known that much.
Theron stilled, noticing the faint flicker of silver in her deep blue eyes. He watched her hand move across his plate with quiet disbelief.
She didn't ask permission. Didn't explain. She just removed the pieces with quiet certainty, like in the past.
His fingers curled slightly against the table. For reasons he couldn't immediately name, his appetite vanished.
He watched her instead.
She ate with focus, almost defensively, as if speed alone could protect the meal.
"Aveline…" he said at last.
"Hmm?" she replied around a mouthful of meat, gripping her fork like he might snatch it away.
"Do you still see the glowing colors on the Moonbeam Mount?" he asked softly.
He leaned closer, voice lowered.
The name alone tightened something in his chest.
Moonbeam Mount loomed beyond the estate windows, faintly visible against the night sky.
Aveline froze. For a fraction of a second, she forgot to swallow. She looked at him.
Of course, she saw them.
She had always seen the mountain shimmer—threads of light winding in patches, through the rock, like veins beneath skin. Even now, through the tall windows, she could glimpse faint colors dancing along its ridges.
But she had promised her mother not to tell anyone. Her mother had told Aveline that it was something she should keep to herself till the day she died.
She had told Theron once, when they were children. She had been so excited, so certain he would see it too if he just looked hard enough.
Not long after, her parents were dead.
She had never proven the connection. But the doubt had rooted deep. Maybe she killed her parents.
"Glowing colors?" she repeated slowly, tilting her head, letting confusion soften her features. Her eyes widened just enough. "No," she said lightly. "I don't know what you mean."
And she resumed eating with exaggerated focus.
Theron watched her every movement and every deliberate bite. She was lying, not poorly, but intentionally.
A slow breath left him.
So.
She did not trust him. Not with that. Not anymore.
His gaze drifted briefly toward the dark silhouette of the mountain beyond the windows.
He had suspected as much. Whatever had happened all those years ago was tangled deeper than he'd known.
He leaned back slightly.
Very well. He would not press her here. He would take her back to Greenvale. And there… he would untangle every thread.
Only when she finished dinner did she notice Theron hadn't touched his food.
Did she offend him by picking his food?
When the last bite was swallowed and the plate set aside, Theron rose without a word.
He did not look at her.
He walked straight toward Henry.
The guards forced Henry upright. His face was streaked with tears and blood, his injured hand a mangled ruin. He tried to beg again, but the words dissolved into incoherent sobs.
Theron picked up the dagger. There was only intent in him.
Aveline watched.
The first finger fell with a wet, dull sound against the marble.
Henry's scream tore through the hall.
Theron did not flinch.
The second finger took more effort. Bone resisted. Theron adjusted his grip and brought the blade down again. And again.
"Pain lingers longer when it's uneven," he said almost conversationally, as though explaining a minor inconvenience.
Sometimes he cut once. Sometimes twice. Sometimes three times.
Henry's voice broke into raw, animal sounds.
Aveline did not feel pity. Not for Henry. Not for the boy who had cornered her in the dark, who had whispered sweetness while stealing breath from her lungs.
No.
But she watched Theron.
Watched the steadiness of his arm. The way he stood between her and every shadow. The way he carried out vengeance was not in frenzy, but in deliberate devotion.
He had done this for her.
He had come back into her life like a storm and uprooted everything that had chained her down.
And she was... Happy.
The realization startled her more than the blood.
Happy.
It felt fragile. Unreal. Like sunlight on winter snow… beautiful but doomed to melt. Happiness had never stayed with her. It was a mirage in her life. A trick of heat on barren land.
She couldn't trust it. She couldn't trust him.
She didn't even know who he truly was.
His question about the pulsing glow still echoed in her mind, keeping her alert.
And then, unbidden, an old whisper from the servants drifted back to her.
The Night Fox.
The servants used to call him that in hushed tones when they thought she wasn't listening.
A night fox is born where daylight dies. He steals the souls of those who fall for his charm. And misfortune follows his steps.
The last time she had trusted him with her wonder, she had lost her parents, and the hall smelled of blood and iron.
Theron finally stepped back, Henry collapsing in a broken heap at his feet.
Aveline clenched her skirt, looking at his blood-streaked face.
This time... what would she lose?