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CORA

C ora never imagined she'd become familiar with the rhythm of Veil training. But a week in, she could track shifts in energy like a heartbeat and read her own magic’s pulse with the kind of instinct she once thought was beyond her.

She still fumbled. She still lit things on fire. And today? She'd nearly singed the broad shoulder of the town’s most grumpy and intimidating ranger.

“Hold still,” she said softly.

Callum sat shirtless on the low bench near her hearth, brow furrowed, shoulder bare and red where a spark from her projection spell had scorched him.

His skin, usually that sun-kissed golden brown, looked raw around the edges, the burn angry and a little swollen.

His jaw ticked when she dabbed the salve, but he didn’t complain.

Not that he ever did. He just got quieter.

“I said I was sorry,” she added, glancing up through her lashes.

“You did,” he grumbled.

“I also brought you that pie from Miriam's pantry as a peace offering.”

He let out a low exhale. “The one with the cardamom crust?”

“That’s the one.”

A beat passed, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re lucky I like pie.”

“I’m lucky you didn’t shift and eat me on the spot,” she muttered, pouring a bit more salve into her palm.

They’d been training since the morning after her dream.

The council had listened, grave and quiet as she showed them the sketch and explained the whispers.

But they’d chosen to wait. The altar couldn’t be moved or sealed without knowing its source, and disturbing it might shatter what balance remained.

Varric had said, “The Veil’s already tight at the seams, we don’t rip it unless we have to. ”

So now, she trained. Every morning, every dusk. Grounding techniques. Magic control. Sensing pulse lines in the Veil before they turned volatile. It helped. A little.

Except when it didn’t—like today.

“I was trying to project,” she explained again, voice softer this time. “You said push the heat outward.”

“And I said don’t let it arc wild.” His voice stayed gruff, but there was no bite in it.

She hummed under her breath. “You always this patient with your students?”

“Don’t usually have students.”

“Then I’m honored,” she teased, though her heart wasn’t quite steady. Her fingers worked gentle circles over the burn, enchanted balm sinking into his skin. Warmth traveled from her palms up her arms, magic humming beneath her ribs. Her hands stilled, lingering.

Callum didn’t move.

She looked up.

He was already watching her, blue eyes unreadable, stormy with something she didn’t know how to name.

His lashes were thick and damp from earlier sweat, his hair damp at the nape.

He smelled like pine and warm spice, and the firelight made the curve of his jaw look like it’d been carved by intention itself.

Cora’s breath caught. She didn’t think. She leaned in and pressed her lips to his.

His mouth was firm, warm, still.

Then he responded.

His hand gripped her waist, tight, grounding. Her magic flared, hot and dizzy, and for one stolen second, she kissed him like he’d been hers forever. Her fingers curled into his bare shoulder, heat and hunger tightening behind her ribs.

But just as quickly, he broke the kiss.

Callum pulled back, breathing hard, jaw set like stone. His eyes didn’t leave hers, and they burned, not with desire but with something that made her stomach twist.

“You don’t want what I am,” he said.

The words landed like cold water.

She sat back slowly, throat tight. “What does that mean?”

He looked away. Not down, just away, toward the flicker of the hearth or maybe the safer past that lived in his memories. “It means I’m not built for soft. Not anymore.”

“You think I’m asking for soft?” Her voice rose, sharp with disbelief.

“I think you don’t know what you’re asking.”

She stared at him. At the man who guarded the Veil like it was stitched to his skin. Who trained with her until dusk, walked her home, fixed her ward lines without telling her. Who laughed—barely—and only ever in the quiet.

“I know you think you’re broken,” she said. “But you’re not.”

His gaze snapped back to hers, fierce. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Maybe not. But I know what you’ve shown me.”

Silence wrapped around them, fire crackling in the hearth. Outside, the wind rattled the oak branches.

She stood, swallowing the sting in her throat. “I wasn’t asking you to promise me forever. I was just… trying to show you something real.”

Callum remained still.

She crossed to the table, grabbed a cloth to clean her hands. The burn cream left a slick film, tingling against her palms. She needed air, needed space before her own magic started reacting again.

“You should go,” she said quietly, not turning.

He stood behind her, footsteps slow, heavy. “Cora?—”

“I’ll be fine. You’re healed. Training continues tomorrow.” She kept her voice steady. Her heart didn’t get the memo.

He hesitated. She heard it in the way he breathed, like something in him warred with everything else. But in the end, the door opened. Then it shut.

And she was alone.

The cottage held the weight of him even after he left. His scent clung to the air, warm and wild. Her fingertips still tingled from touching his skin.

Cora braced both hands on the table and stared down at the wood grain. “So that’s how it feels,” she whispered. “To kiss someone and wish you hadn’t.”

But even now, she couldn’t regret it.

Because for one breathless second, Callum had kissed her like he was starving. Like he’d forgotten the walls around him. And she’d felt the truth beneath all that guarded silence.

He wanted her too. Just not enough to let her in.