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I feel the sharp, brutal bite of rage rip through my heart.

The weight of the betrayal, of my own stupidity, crashing into me like a goddamn war hammer.

I let myself be fooled.

I let her touch me.

She whispered my name like she still had the right.

And all along—this was her plan.

To lead me right into this.

A slow, mocking exhale slips from my lips.

"Aereth."

Her name tastes like poison.

Her expression softens, but it’s not real.

"Zephiran," she murmurs, taking a single step closer.

A warning bell screams in my head.

I composed myself, willing my mind and heart to not let any emotion slip.

She can’t see how deep the wound she just left in me truly is.

Instead, I tilt my chin slightly, letting a slow, sharp smirk pull at my mouth.

"I should have buried you myself."

Her smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it widens.

Aereth has cornered me successfully and she relishes in it.

I feel the shift before I see it.

The subtle movement of blades unsheathing.

The slow, calculated repositioning of bodies.

They aren’t attacking yet.

They think they got me because of Aereth’s presence.

I am surrounded, unarmed, outnumbered.

There’s no Naira. Maybe it’s for the best.

I exhale slowly, forcing myself to stay loose, forcing my grip to remain light on my sword hilt, forcing the tension in my body to become something fluid.

Something lethal.

I might be trapped?—

But I am not alone.