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He winces, as if my plea strikes a nerve. Silence stretches for an agonizing beat. Rain hammers outside, and the wind keens. Then he speaks, voice raw and low.

“I was… created,” he begins, each syllable forced. “Not born the way normal gargoyles are. My clan used dark magic to craft a line of specialized executioners—beings made to obey unconditionally, to kill on command without hesitation. They carved out our instincts, honed them to a single purpose. That’s why it was so easy for me to slaughter. I never questioned it, not until I saw you.”

My breath catches. I recall how merciless he seemed at first, a blade honed to perfection. The thought that he wasmadethat way, stripped of choice, churns my stomach. “So you had no say?”

He shakes his head, bitterness etched in his face. “We believed it was our highest calling— that the Thirteen anointed us to keep the gargoyle race pure from threats like the purna. But deep down, I always felt… empty. As if something was missing. And when the Alpha commanded I kill you,somethingin me fractured. I couldn’t do it.”

I stare at him, heart pounding. “That’s when you kidnapped me instead,” I say softly. “You’d never disobeyed before.”

He nods, throat working. “It was the first time I acted on my own will. And now I’m branded a traitor, an abomination among my kin. But I can’t regret it. Even if it dooms me.”

Emotion swells in my chest. I set aside the chain, leaning forward. “You carry that alone?” My voice quivers with sympathy and lingering anger. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because…” His gaze flickers with shame. “I was afraid you’d see me as a monster—another puppet of the Alpha. Or worse, that you’d pity me.”

A trembling laugh escapes my lips, half bitter, half relieved. “I already saw you as a monster. Then you saved me, more than once. As for pity… I know what it means to be robbed of choice. At least now I understand more about you.”

He exhales, wings drooping further. “I’m sorry I kept it from you.”

I study his face, the tightness around his eyes. Beneath the brutality and lethal grace, I see a man warring with old programming, with guilt so heavy it weighs every step he takes. “You’re not the only one with burdens,” I say gently. “I’m terrified of my own bloodline, of what I might become if that magic awakens. But pushing me away only makes it worse.”

He nods slowly, tension easing from his posture. “You’re right. I— I don’t know how to be anything but an executioner. Every day, I expect I’ll fail you, that I’ll slip back into that mindless killer.”

A pang of sorrow hits me. I reach out, curling my hand over his stone-like fingers. “You won’t,” I murmur. “You’ve come too far. And… I can’t do this alone, either. We face the same threat, from different angles.”

The confession settles between us, raw and honest. His large hand closes around mine, claws retracted. For once, the chain doesn’t feel like a barrier but a quiet testament to how far we’ve come. We’ve both been molded by forces we neverchose—his gargoyle creation, my purna heritage. Perhaps that understanding binds us together more than any collar or oath.

We sit in reflective silence for a time, the fire crackling softly in the confines of the alcove. Rain intensifies, drumming a steady rhythm on the rocky overhang. My heart still flutters with leftover anger, but it mingles with compassion and relief that he’s finally opened up. I sense a fragile bridge forming between us, the first real chance at understanding.

Korrin stirs, sliding closer to the fire. His gaze dips to our joined hands. I see emotion churning in those golden eyes—fear, longing, a flicker of hope. My own chest feels too tight, heavy with all the unspoken feelings between us.

“Elyria,” he murmurs. My name in his deep voice sends a ripple through my core. “Thank you for… for pushing me to speak. If we’re to survive, I can’t keep hiding from you.”

I swallow. “I want that—no more secrets.” My voice comes out husky. “And if we can help each other bear our… curses, maybe we’ll both find a way through this.”

His lips press into a thin line, as though holding back a flood of words. Instead of talking, he shifts to face me fully, wings partially unfurled for balance. The air between us crackles with tension, different from the fights or the silent resentments. Something deeper. My pulse quickens as I recall our last encounter.

“Korrin…” I begin, not entirely sure what I’m asking for, but wanting more than just reassurance.

He tilts his head, a question in his eyes. Then, almost tentative, he lifts his free hand to graze my jawline. His claws remain curled inward, gentle. My breath stutters at the contact, at the tenderness in his gaze. I see anguish there, yes, but also a fierce devotion that makes me tremble.

I lean in on instinct, letting my cheek press against his palm. The warmth of his skin steadies me. My eyes flutter shut. In thehush of rain, I can hear his breath catch, feel the subtle hitch in his chest. When he shifts closer, I part my lips in a silent invitation, heart pounding.

A moment later, our mouths brush in a tentative kiss. It’s softer than before, laced with the swirling emotions we’ve kept locked away—an apology, a confession, a promise. I exhale shakily, sliding my hand up his arm to his shoulder. The collar chain clinks, reminding me of all that still binds us, but for once, I can bear it.

His lips linger on mine, moving slowly, as if savoring each second. I taste the salt of rain on his skin, smell the faint scent of smoke and damp stone. A quiver of longing pulses through me. He groans softly, pressing closer, and my body warms despite the chill. We pull apart briefly for air, our gazes colliding. His eyes burn with hunger and tenderness.

“You should go to sleep soon, rest. We still have a long way to go. I’m sure you’re tired,” he says, gazing into my eyes and making my heart race. There’s so much tenderness in them that it makes me want to cry. I turn away, composing my emotions.

“Yes, I think I’ll go to sleep now,” I reply softly, and prepare my makeshift bed. I close my eyes, trying to sleep but I can’t forget the kiss. Its sweetness lingers in my mind until sleep overtakes me. I just hope tomorrow is a better day.

I wake to a softer drizzle at the entrance of our refuge, the sky tinged a somber gray. My body aches in pleasant ways, though my ankle complains about the day’s travel. Korrin still sleeps, wings tucked around me possessively, as if shielding me even in slumber. My cheeks warm at the memory of the night’s intimacy, how it felt to finally share a piece of our burdens.

Careful not to disturb him too much, I shift, pressing a light kiss to his temple. He stirs with a low rumble, eyes fluttering open. For a heartbeat, his expression is unguarded—soft, almost content. Then I see the flicker of reality returning, tensionedging back into his gaze. But there’s also gratitude, perhaps even a gentle acceptance, for what we have.

He sits up, rolling his shoulders. “Morning,” he murmurs.

“Morning,” I answer, tugging the blanket around me to shield from the damp chill. Our eyes meet in a silent exchange, recalling the closeness we shared hours ago. The chain weighs at my collar, but the memory of his fingers trailing along the scarred metal is fresh enough that it doesn’t sting as harshly.