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“Lyric,” he whispered, her name a warning and a prayer.

“I know,” she answered, understanding everything he couldn’t say. “I know what you think you are. What you believe you don’t deserve.”

She stepped closer, eliminating the space between them. “But I see you, Egon. I’ve always seen you.”

CHAPTER 16

Lyric paused at the edge of the glade where Egon had decided to stop for the night, her breath catching in her throat. The setting sun filtered through the canopy of ancient oaks, casting dappled golden light across a carpet of wildflowers. A small stream trickled over moss-covered stones, its gentle burbling the only sound breaking the silence.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered.

Moving with surprising grace for someone his size, he took off his pack and set it beneath a broad oak. His massive hands, capable of such destruction, now worked with careful precision as he arranged stones for a fire pit.

“Found it on my way to your village,” he said, not looking up from his task. “I thought we might need somewhere safe to rest.”

She sank onto a fallen log, her legs grateful for the reprieve after hours of hiking. She watched him work, struck by the contradiction of him—this warrior who had torn apart armed men now humming softly as he gathered kindling.

“How do you do that?” she asked.

He glanced up, golden eyes questioning. “Do what?”

“Find beauty in all this chaos.” She gestured vaguely at the world beyond their sanctuary. “After everything that’s happened…”

His hands stilled. He straightened, rolling his broad shoulders before meeting her gaze.

“When you’ve seen as much ugliness as I have, you learn to notice the good things.” His voice was low, intimate in the quiet glade. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”

She nodded and looked around the glade again—truly looked. Tiny blue butterflies danced over purple coneflowers. The stream caught the last rays of sunlight, turning to liquid gold. Above them, the first stars appeared in the eastern sky.

For years, she’d focused only on survival. Even her garden had been practical first, beautiful second. But here, miles from everything familiar, she felt something long-dormant unfurling in her chest.

“It reminds me of a story I heard once,” she said softly. “About sacred places where the Old Gods still walk.”

He smiled—a rare, unguarded expression that transformed his scarred face.

“Maybe they do,” he said, striking flint to steel. Sparks caught the dry tinder, and a small flame bloomed between his hands. “There is a shrine high in the mountains dedicated to the Old Gods. My brother went there to pray for an answer for our people.”

“Did he find one?”

He smiled again. “In a way. His mate fell out of the sky and into the lake next to the shrine.”

“Really?”

“Really. He believes that the Old Gods are at work in our lives.”

“Do you believe that?”

He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the question. “I’m not sure I believe they are that interested in my life, but I did ask them to give me a purpose.”

“A purpose? Not a mate?”

“I didn’t think I was worthy.”

Her heart ached for him, and she hugged her knees to her chest, watching the flames dance in the growing darkness. Memories flickered like the shadows around them—of a younger Egon, of herself before life had hardened her edges.

“Do you remember the night we snuck onto the merchant’s roof?” she asked, her voice barely audible above the crackling fire.

His eyes gleamed in the firelight. “To watch the summer stars.”