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"When you disappeared," he corrects, moving closer to the counter. The scent of him—spiced wind and sunwarmed stones—threatens to undo me. "Without a word."
I lift my chin. "I don't owe you explanations."
He laughs then, a sound both dark and delighted that sends a treacherous shiver down my spine. "You know what I've discovered, Ronnie?" He leans forward, palms flat on the counter between us. "I don't particularly care what you think you're interested in."
Panic floods my system, drowning rational thought. If he stays in Saufort, he'll see Millie. He'll notice her eyes—golden like his. The shape of her smile. The way her brow furrows when she's concentrating, just like his does when he's calculating his next move.
"There's nothing for you here," I say, desperation making my voice brittle.
His eyes narrow, studying me with unnerving intensity. "I think there's more here than you want me to know about," he says softly. "Much more."
His words hang between us, sharp as glass. I can't breathe, can't think past the thundering in my chest. What does he suspect? What has he seen?
"I don't know what you're talking about," I manage, my voice steadier than I feel.
Araton's eyes darken, the gold in them hardening to amber. He pushes away from the counter with fluid grace, his wings shifting against his back as he begins a predatory circle of my shop.
"Three years is a long time, Ronnie," he says, fingers trailing along my shelves, examining labels of herbs and tinctures. "Did you find what you were running toward? Or just what you were running from?"
I grip the edge of the counter until my knuckles turn white. Every instinct screams to throw him out, to protect what's mine, but confrontation will only feed his suspicions.
"My life isn't your business anymore."
He snorts, the sound devoid of humor. "No? Then whose business is it?" His voice drops dangerously low. "Tell me something, fierce one. Do you let any xaphan into your bed these days? Or am I special?"
The question blindsides me, sending ice through my veins. "What?"
"I saw him," he snarls, turning toward me with such sudden venom that I take a step back. "The one with the gray wings. I saw you go to him this morning—" He stops abruptly, jaw working beneath his bronze skin.
My mind races to catch up. Adellum. He saw Adellum with Millie. Relief and terror crash through me in equal measure—he doesn't realize, not yet, but he's dangerously close to the truth.
"So that's what this is about?" I force a brittle laugh, playing for time. "You're jealous?"
The dimple disappears as his smile turns cruel. "Not jealous. Curious." He approaches the counter again, leaning forward until I can see flecks of deeper bronze in his golden eyes. "Did you leave me to play happy family with another xaphan? How deliciously ironic, considering how much you claimed to hate us."
I see my opening—the assumption I can use to shield Millie. My mouth goes dry, but I forge ahead.
"People change," I say, the lie burning my tongue. "Adellum is... different."
Something dangerous flickers across Araton's face. The air in the shop seems to thin, a subtle manipulation of his elemental magic that makes my lungs work harder.
"Different," he repeats, the word like acid. "And the child? Those silver wings—" He cuts himself off, nostrils flaring. "You wasted no time replacing me."
I swallow hard, hating myself for the deception but desperate to protect my daughter. "That's right."
Araton's eyes narrow to slits, his jaw clenching so tightly I can see a muscle jump beneath his skin. For a heartbeat, I fear he'll see through me—that he'll recognize his own eyes in Millie's, that he'll somehow sense the connection to his own blood.
"How charming," he says finally, voice like silk over steel. "The defiant human who swore she'd never be with a xaphan found herself another winged companion. Was it the novelty, Ronnie? Did you miss the sensation of feathers against your skin?"
Each word cuts deeper than the last. I want to scream the truth, to wipe that contempt from his face, but Millie's safety comes first. Always.
"Get out," I whisper, trembling with the effort to remain composed.
"Gladly." He straightens, wings flaring slightly behind him in a display of agitation I remember all too well. "But know this—I'm not leaving Saufort. Not yet." His eyes lock with mine, something raw and unfamiliar bleeding into his expression.
He turns in one fluid motion, striding toward the door. The bell chimes discordantly as he yanks it open, sunlight catching the silver flecks in his wings.
"Enjoy your little fantasy, fierce one," he says, not looking back. "We both know how good you are at running when things get real. But I'm much better at hunting."