Page 93

I sit by the water, letting the cold air bite at my skin, letting the sounds of the night drown out the murmurs from the fire.

I try to not look. Not to eavesdrop.

But then—he comes to me.

Slow. Quiet.

Like a man stepping through a battlefield where he does not know if the next step will kill him.

"You're avoiding me."

I keep my gaze on the river, refusing to turn, refusing to let him see the war inside me.

"You noticed," I murmur, silence follows.

Then—a slow, sharp exhale.

His presence shifts, closer, heavier.

"You’re angry."

Not a question.

A statement. That alone makes me snap.

I stand too quickly, rounding on him, fists clenched, breath short.

"You think I have a right to be?" I hiss.

He doesn’t move.

He just watches me, eyes flickering with something dark, something unreadable.

I loathe the way he gazes at me like he already knows exactly how this will end.

I shove past him, but before I can leave, his fingers catch my wrist.

A shiver runs through me, an electric pulse of something too much, too dangerous, too real.

"Let me go," I whisper.

His grip tightens.

For a second, just a second, his expression crumbles.

And I almost believe he will say something that matters.

But he doesn’t.

Afterall, he’s Zephiran Zacria, and he never fucking chooses.

I wrench my arm free, stepping back, my heart racing as if killer is behind me.

I walk away, not looking back.

But his hand suddenly grabs me, haltiny my steps.

I turn to him. “What?”