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Her face is relaxed, the sharp edges of her usual guarded expressions smoothed away by exhaustion. I wonder if she ever got to sleep like this before—without fear, without the weight of the world pressing down on her. If I let myself think about it too long, my thoughts will go places I can’t afford.

So I don’t think. I just stay there, unmoving, until the dark sky begins to shift into softer shades, until the edges of night begin to fray.

At some point, I must have drifted—just for a moment. Not quite asleep, but not fully present either. My eyes had closed, my body lulled by the quiet hush of her breathing and the steady warmth where her shoulder brushed mine. A kind of stillness settled over me, the kind I haven’t felt in… longer than I can remember.

Only when the wind changes—carrying the scent of dew and moss and the promise of dawn—do I carefully untangle myself.

I lift her gently—gods, she’s light—and ease her down onto the bedroll, shifting my cloak beneath her head as a pillow. She stirs slightly, brows pulling together, and for one heart-stopping second, I think she’s going to wake. But then she sighs and settles again, burrowing just a little deeper into the fabric.

I let out a slow breath, watching her for a beat too long.

I don’t speak of Garrick often.

That thought sticks, winding itself through my ribs, settling somewhere deep and unfamiliar.

I don’t know what’s happening to me.

I stand, stretching out stiff muscles, but my gaze keeps drifting back to her. It’s a dangerous thing, letting myself care.But I can’t stop it.

Aria shifts slightly, eyes fluttering open. The moment she realizes she’s alone, something flickers in her expression. But it’s gone quickly, replaced by something softer as her gaze meets mine.

She pushes up onto her elbows, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Morning.”

I grunt, crouching to roll my shoulders. “You sleep alright?”

She nods, then pauses, as if second-guessing herself. “I—yeah.” Her fingers brush the fabric beneath her. “You, uh… you gave me your cloak?”

I shrug. “Seemed softer than the ground.”

She huffs a quiet laugh, but it’s warm, real.

Then she stretches, rolling her shoulders. “I’ll get us some fresh water,” she offers.

A flicker of unease prickles at the back of my mind. Letting her out of my sight, even just for a few minutes, doesn’t sit right with me. “I’ll go with you.”

Aria shakes her head. “I’ll be fine, Roan. The stream's barely a few steps away.”

I hesitate. My gut tells me not to let her out of my sight, but she looks at me with quiet certainty, and damn it, I don’t want to smother her.

“Fine,” I say, exhaling through my nose. “But don’t take too long.”

She rolls her eyes but gives me a small, almost amused smile before disappearing into the trees.

I listen. I hear her steps, the faint rustling of leaves as she moves, the quiet trickle of water not far away. Only then do I let myself sit down by the fire, rubbing a hand over my face.

The rest of the day continues like that.

We don’t talk about Garrick again. Or Vire. Or the people Aria has killed. Who knows how many? It’s not like I can judge. I’ve killed for revenge. For coin.

And if needed… I’ll kill to protect her.

Aria

Thatevening,thefirecrackles softly, warmth brushing against my face as I sit cross-legged on the bedroll.

The familiar rasp of stone against metal fills the air—Roan sharpening her sword, just like every night. It’s a ritual now: the fire, the scent of smoke and damp earth, the low murmur of our conversations punctuated by the steady thrum of steel being honed.

Tonight, she’s more relaxed than usual—and that’s strange, isn’t it?After everything we confessed recently—Garrick, Vire, the people I’ve killed—it should feel heavier between us. Itshouldbe unbearable.