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Her voice cuts through the quiet. “You alright? You… looked different back there.”

I freeze for half a second before forcing myself to focus on her arm. “I guess…” I swallow, choosing my words carefully. “I forget what I’m capable of sometimes.”

The memory flashes behind my eyes—the way my strength surged before I even realized what I was doing, how easily I sank my blade into flesh. Howeasyit was.

Roan studies me, her gaze sharp, assessing. “Does it scare you?”

“Yes,” I admit, barely above a whisper.

A beat of silence. Then, her uninjured hand reaches out, steadying my trembling fingers. Her thumb brushes against my wrist—just once, just enough. A grounding touch.

“Better that it scares you,” she says quietly. “Means you’re not like them.”

Something in my chest twists. Her faith in me—her certainty—steals my breath.

I blink rapidly, pushing the lump in my throat aside. “All I wanted was to leave that life,” I murmur, dipping the cloth back into the stream. “I never wanted to hurt anyone—human or vampire. I just… wanted peace. Somewhere I can exist without looking over my shoulder every second.”

Roan nods, letting that confession settle between us. The breeze rustles through the canopy, sending ripples through the water.

“Peace,” she finally says, as if testing the word. “Elden Hollow’s not far from here. If we can slip in quietly, we could gather supplies, maybe find a place to lie low for a while.”

I glance at her, uncertain. “A town? With people? Are you certain that’s wise?”

She offers a wry smile. “It’s a risk. But staying out here doesn’t seem safer. They’ll keep coming.”

Elden Hollow. The thought of a town makes my stomach tighten—crowds, too many heartbeats in one place, the scent of warm blood filling the air. But it also means shelter, anonymity. A place to vanish.

“Alright,” I say softly, wringing out the cloth and pressing it one final time against her wound. “Then… we go to Elden Hollow. Together.”

She exhales, nodding once. Together. The word hums between us, settling into something weighty, something solid.

I wrap her arm as best I can, fingers lingering a little too long as I tie the bandage in place. Her skin is warm beneath mine, rough with old scars, but she doesn’t pull away.

I glance up, expecting her usual stoicism, but her eyes are already on me—watching, unreadable. The space between us feels smaller than it should.

She swallows. I do too.

I should let go.

“Done,” I murmur, forcing myself to pull my hands away.

“Good,” she says, just a little too quickly, shifting back. “You’re almost professional at that.”

“Oh?” I smirk. “If that’s the case, perhaps I should charge you for my services?”

Roan snorts. “You want coin, Mouse?”

I huff a laugh, but something about the way she looks at me lingers.

The tension sits too thick, too heavy in the air. So I break it first—rising to my feet, brushing the dirt from my palms.

“Let’s pack quickly,” I say, already turning toward the tree line.

But my heart is still thrumming, and my fingers still burn where I touched her.

Because for the first time in a long while, I’m not just running.

I’m falling.