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“You won’t make me initiate every conversation?” I ask.

“I won’t.”

“And you’ll start kissing me again?”

“I will.”

“Good.”

Kellyn’s gaze turns inward. He’s thinking very seriously about something, and I want to know what it is. But he’s clearly not done, so I’m silent. He needs time to process everything I’ve said. I’ve been stewing over it for weeks. He’s just now hearing about it.

When he refocuses on me, he says, “I have noticed your efforts. I loved it. But it was also mean of me. I was being spiteful. I wanted you to have a sense of what I was feeling while we were running from Kymora. It was unfair. And I’m so, so sorry. Let’s just be ourselves.”

“I’d like that.”

And then I’m hit with another wave of exhaustion. The reminder of the bloody battle. Fleeing for our lives. Killing. I close my eyes against it.

I say, “I need you to take charge tonight,” reminding him of my words from earlier.

He finally closes the distance between us and wraps me in his arms. “Sweetheart,” he says, and the word is so loving and delicious it makes my toes curl. “I’m happy to, but I don’t know what you need right now. You have to tell me. Do you want to talk about today? Do you want me to hold you? Do you want me to pull Petrik off your sister and lock him in my room tonight so he can’t touch her? Say what you need and it’s yours.”

I laugh at the last option, and he squeezes me tighter.

“I don’t hear that sound enough,” he says.

Sometimes I forget that just because I never know what to say doesn’t mean everyone else does all the time. Kellyn isn’t a mind reader. If I need something, I need to ask for it.

“Today was rough,” I say. “I would like to be held, please.”

“Would you like to move somewhere more comfortable?” heasks. “We can stand here for a while. We could sit on the couch. On the floor. Wherever you want.”

“Could we lie down on the bed? Could we sleep side by side like we did in the tent?”

“Definitely,” he says, his voice so deep, it’s almost impossible to make out the word.

I’m very aware of many things. The fact that we’re both wearing so little. The fact that we’re alone in this room together. The fact that we have abedto share.

But the gore and screams still battle for dominance in my thoughts, making me sick to my stomach.

Kellyn leans us against a mountain of pillows, pulls the covers over the top of us, and holds me against his chest. His hair is still damp from his bath, but I don’t mind. The rest of his body keeps me warm.

“I can’t stop thinking about the fight,” I say after a bit. “It was horrible.”

“It was,” he agrees. “I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

“I feel dirty,” I say. “No, my soul feels dirty. I’ve killed so many people now that I’ve lost count. I feel evil. Bad. Like I will be sent to one of the Sisters’ hells when I die.”

Kellyn tries to say something, but I continue, “But then I think about you. You have also killed, but you’re not bad. Your soul is not evil. Why do I hold myself to a higher set of values than I do you? What we did was necessary. I know it. But I still don’t feel right inside.

“I felt this way after the battle with Kymora in Amanor, but then I couldn’t give the thoughts much space in my head. I was too busy trying to save Temra’s life. Then I was trying to save your life. And then we made it back to Skiro and war was approaching. And then it happened. And now I killed some more. It’s freshin my mind, and I don’t think I can sleep. And how do you deal with it?”

Kellyn squeezes me tightly again. One hand rubs from my shoulder to my elbow. “I think my mind works differently than yours. I mean, obviously it does. But I am able to push things from my thoughts when I wish. But you can’t, can you? Thoughts consume you. They take all the energy out of you.”

“Yes.”

“Sometimes it helps to focus on thewhyinstead of thewhat. I don’t think about the death I dealt. I think about who I’m protecting. I think about my home and my family. About you. I remind myself about all the good things so there’s no space for the bad.”

“I used to focus my thoughts by forging something in my head from start to finish. But now—the end result is a weapon. And then weapons lead to fighting. And I’m back to thinking about what I don’t want to think about. I used to only worry about talking to people. Being judged by them. Now I have to worry about people trying to kill me. I think it’s making my normal anxieties way worse.”