Page 26

26

Eden

THE ROOM WAS tense when I woke. The kind that thickened the air and made every breath weighted. I shifted, and my breathing became uneven. His muscles stiffened beneath me. He was a storm pulling at the edges of restraint.

Oberon stared at me, unblinking. His piercing gaze twisted my stomach. He read me. The moment his stare pierced through the surface, past my defenses, he must have seen the panic lingering in the corners of my eyes and the fear still coiled tightly in my chest. His brows twitched.

It was too much. Blinding pain lanced through my back when I broke the contact too fast. My body screamed in protest, my vision swayed, but I buried it under my perfected mask.

“Herbalist.”

I hesitated. My fingers wrapped into the sheets, and my gaze locked on my hands. I knew what I would see if I looked at him—the frustration, the anger that had been simmering beneath the surface since I woke up to the physician.

“We need to wrap—”

“No,” I clipped.

There was a pause, a crackle in the silence.

“I will wrap it,” I said.

With a sharp exhale, his hand raked through his hair, and his fingers gripped as if he were stopping himself from saying what he wanted to. “You shouldn’t—”

“I will,” I repeated, steel lining my voice.

The air between us shifted. Tensed. We glared at each other. His stare was threatening. The silver flickered just beneath the surface of his dark irises as he picked apart my reasoning, weighing every word I didn’t say and searching for a crack, a way in. But I held firm.

“Fine,” he conceded, his voice lower, rougher. “I’ll be in my room.” He turned before I could see whatever else lurked behind his gaze, and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. The moment the door shut behind him, my body betrayed me. My hands shook. My breath hitched.

Don’t cry.

My jaw clenched, and my fingers tightened in the sheets . Get it together. The fact that someone had seen it was horrible enough. The fact that he had seen it made the situation unbearable.

I didn’t know why it cut so deep, why it hurt worse than the wound itself. Maybe because he wasn’t just anyone; he was Oberon Sinclaire, the heartless, unshakable assassin who had never looked at me with pity. Not when I stumbled, failed, or my past clawed its way to the surface. He teased me in the field, that smirk tugging at his lips, a flicker of something softer behind his sharp exterior. He did it again in the room—an almost imperceptible shift in his gaze, as if something had cracked, and a wall between us had fallen.

It was new, fragile, something I hadn’t dared hope for.

And it was gone.

The wall was back up—thicker, heavier, and impenetrable. My fault. My stupid, reckless fault. I had overstepped, crossed an invisible line, and shown too much. I wasn’t sure what I had seen in his eyes anymore.

Anger? Frustration? Disgust?

A lump lodged itself in my throat. I swallowed hard, but it didn’t go away. I should have known better. I should have stayed back and let him handle it. But when that creature lunged behind him, and I saw its claws poised to strike—

A violent tremor shook me, shattering my thoughts. Pain flared through my back and forced a sharp breath from my lips. My fingers curled, and my nails bit into my palms as I forced myself to stay still. The wound was worse than I had thought. Sticky, warm blood seeped through the stitches, and a deep, pulsing ache radiated from it. I was more aware of the risks of infection than anyone. The deeper the wound, the greater the danger.

I needed to wrap it. To stop the bleeding. To breathe.

Gritting my teeth, I reached for the bandage roll. The stiff movement sent a lance of pain through my shoulder. I hissed, biting back a curse. My fingers curled around the rough fabric, knuckles white as I forced my body to obey.

“Steady breaths. You’ve been through worse.”

The whisper was faint, but saying it aloud made it seem like I wasn’t just sitting here, bleeding and breaking apart, but still had some semblance of control. My hands trembled as I wound the bandage around my shoulder, pressing the fabric against the raw, burning skin. “ Too tight. Loosen it.” The whisper came again, this time sharper, more forceful. I inhaled through my teeth and adjusted the wrap, fingers slipping against the warmth of my blood.

The room felt too quiet. Too empty.

The suffocating silence curled around me, amplifying every shallow breath and every rustle of fabric as I worked. I clenched my jaw. “ Stop shaking .” I wasn’t cold, but my hands wouldn’t listen.

It wasn’t the wound that made me tremble. It was the way Oberon had looked at me. The stark fury in his eyes. The tension that had crackled in the space between us. It wasn’t the usual irritation when I disobeyed, not the exasperation laced in his voice when I ignored his orders. It was harsher, colder.

And I had put it there.

The smirk he gave me before I ruined it. The soft edge in his voice when he called me “Dilthen Doe” made it sound like it meant something different, as if it wasn’t just an insult and there was more to it. He made it sound warm.

It was gone.

I ruined it.

A bitter laugh threatened to slip past my lips, but I swallowed it. Of course I did . That was what I did best, wasn’t it? Destroyed things before they could hold any meaning.

I shook my head and focused on the task at hand, grabbing the roll of bandages again. Layer after layer, my fingers pressed into each fold, ensuring it was tight, secure, and precise. The pressure helped. At least it gave me something else to focus on, other than the silence or the ache in my chest that had nothing to do with my wound.

Deep breaths, Eden.

It was done.

My arms fell limp at my sides, my muscles aching from the strain and exhaustion I couldn’t shake. My body throbbed in dull, rhythmic pulses. The sting of my wound was indistinguishable from the more profound ache that settled in my bones. I needed rest. I needed to stop.

But my mind didn’t let me, because I thought of him again. The way his jaw clenched as he held me, his teeth grinding as though the very act of touching me was a burden. I was something he had to tolerate and endure. The memory hit too hard. I swallowed, forcing down the lump in my throat as I gripped the torn fabric of my dress as if that alone could anchor me.

It shouldn’t have mattered.

My hands shook as I lifted the ruined dress, the fabric feeling heavier than it should have, carrying the weight of everything I couldn’t say, everything I wasn’t strong enough to face. A ragged sob slipped out before I could stop it.

Damn it.

I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to drag myself back, hard enough to keep the rest of the emotions clawing at my throat from spilling. I couldn’t afford this. Not now. Not ever.

I had to fix this.

My fingers fumbled for the needle, but it was small and slippery with sweat. It kept slipping between my fingers. A sharp sting bit into the pad of my thumb, and I hissed, shaking my hand out before forcing myself to keep going.

One stitch at a time.

The thread pulled tight, drawing the fabric together in uneven, jagged lines. My hands shook, the needle trembling between my fingers, but I persevered. Stitch after stitch, the dress gradually came back together. It wasn’t perfect or smooth, but it was wearable.

Good enough.

My fingers were stiff and aching when I set the dress aside. My body begged for rest, but my mind still returned to him. To the way he looked at me. To the way it felt to lose something I never had.

Oberon’s tunic was stained with blood. He sat on the log at the river’s edge, arms crossed, watching me scrub the fabric clean in the river. His gaze had been that usual sharp and unreadable look, but he hadn’t stopped me.“You can’t keep wearing a bloodied shirt over a clean, bandaged wound. It’ll get infected. Which would only cause trouble for both of us.”

A scoff tore from my lips as I flexed my fingers, trying to stop the trembling. My wrists ached from the tension, and the deep, raised scars on my arms caught my eye as I moved.

“Remember who you belong to, Darling.”

The voice was a lingering serpent that slithered through my mind. My chest tightened, and my breath stalled as if my lungs had forgotten how to work. The room tilted, shadows pressing in on the periphery of my vision. I knew I was still here, but the past had its claws in me, dragging me under.

My knees hit the floor beside the bed, a sharp jolt rattled through me, and I sobbed. It tore through me in raw, uncontrollable waves, shaking my frame until I couldn’t hold myself upright. My fingers clenched into the sheets, anchoring me, but it wasn’t enough. I despised the overwhelming loss of control. I loathed it all.

I was used to the memories. I was used to waking in a panic and clawing my way back to reality. But I had never been so out of it. I had never felt so damn lost.

THE DOOR CREAKED open. Oberon’s presence carried the way it always had, a pressure that settled into the air like a storm waiting to break. It was simply… him.

My eyes remained locked on the journal before me, flipping back through pages filled with cramped, hurried handwriting. My gaze skimmed over old notes. Had we missed something? Had I overlooked a detail that could have made a difference? The thought gnawed at me, a relentless, twisting thing. The corpse was never found, and I needed to be sure the village would be safe.

I had to be sure.

My fingers trembled as I traced over a half-written line, a thought I had meant to return to but never did. I couldn’t make sense of my own words. Exhaustion was a stone on my shoulders, pressing heavier with each passing day. The nightmares kept me from resting. The stitches on my back kept me from forgetting.

Oberon’s boots stopped just short of my table. His stare was palpable. “We received another letter.” His voice was steady, but beneath it lay a tension woven into words.

My head lifted, blinking past the thick haze of sleeplessness. The room wavered around me, its dim candlelight casting everything in flickering shadows. Oberon. Stood still, unreadable as always, with the sealed parchment that dangled between two fingers, as if it were just another task, another duty to be carried out. But his posture told me it wasn’t.

The golden light from the candle on my desk licked across the sharp planes of his face, catching in the hollows beneath his jaw and deepening the shadows that framed his ever-stoic expression. But there was a hesitation he wasn’t voicing.

“Already?” My voice came out rough, strained from disuse. Oberon stepped forward and placed the letter on the table in front of me. The parchment made no sound, but it was heavier than it should have been. I swallowed hard, closed the journal, and pushed it aside.

“Where to?”

“Ruvenmere.”

My brow creased as I studied him. “Where is that?”

“Fishing village on the Ruvenmere shore.” Though it had a faint edge, his voice was as even as ever. He paused before adding, “How much do you know about the villages?”

That question gave me pause. Not just because of the fatigue and ache bouncing through my head, but because I wasn’t sure myself. I only knew what the twins who ran the small baker’s stall had told me, the vague warnings that were given under scrutiny by my parents, and the minor superstitions raised to my attention by gossiping patients at the village apothecary. I had been too busy surviving to listen well enough to any of it.

I must have pondered over it for too long. With a huff, Oberon continued. “We are being sent to investigate… disturbances.”

That one word made my stomach drop. I stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, I sighed. “Disturbances?”

Oberon dragged a hand down his face. “People are seeing and hearing things,” he muttered, as though he didn’t want to say it aloud. “Things that shouldn’t be there.”

A sick, familiar feeling curled through my gut. “Great,” I muttered, leaning forward against the desk. “Because that’s gone so well for us so far.”

Oberon let out a humorless huff. “I’m glad we agree.”

I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes, rubbing hard as if I could wipe away the exhaustion, the weight that clung to me. “When?”

“First light.”

I nodded, forcing my expression to be neutral. I should have known there would be no time to recover or catch one’s breath. We never got that luxury, but Gods, I was tired. Not just the tiredness that settled in muscles and joints, but the kind that seeped into bones—a slow, sinking weight that no willpower shook.

Oberon stepped closer, setting the letter down with deliberate precision as if its weight mattered. His gaze flicked over my face, sharp and assessing, lingering just a little too long. The scrutiny was a blade, cutting through the last shreds of composure I had left.

He always saw too much. He could read the exhaustion in my features and see through the walls I had built as if they weren’t even there. I hated that about him.

“You should sleep.” It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.

A quiet, humorless laugh slipped from my lips. “Right. Because that’s working for me.”

His jaw tensed, and the silver in his irises flickered.

He wanted to say something. It was in the slight shift of his stance and how his fingers curled at his sides. Maybe he wanted to discuss how I had woken up gasping the last two nights, breath stolen by things I couldn’t escape. Perhaps he wanted to comment on how I guarded the stitches on my back or my inability to rest.

He huffed, rubbing a hand over his face as if to scrub something away.

Frustration? Exhaustion? Anger?

“Just be ready.” His voice was clipped, final. I nodded once, gripping the edge of the table, watching as he turned for the door. But he hesitated at the threshold. His shoulders stiffened, tension running through him, something unsaid still lodged between his ribs.

“The nightmares.” The words were low, quieter. “They’re getting worse.”

A lump formed in my throat. I hated he knew. Hated that he had noticed. No matter how much distance I tried to put between my suffering and his perception, it was never enough.

“Sinclaire—”

But he was already gone.