Page 73 of Unravelled

Four Years Ago

Mira had never done it to be cruel, or to upset him. But Navigators, it was so easy to annoy him. Torvyn had always been protective, always hovering over her like a second shadow, making sure she didn't get into trouble, making sure no one bothered her.

Which meant his friends were entirely off-limits.

And that just made it all the more fun. The first time she had batted her lashes at one of them, he had nearly choked on his wine.

The second time, she had laughed a little too sweetly at some dumb joke, and Torvyn had dragged her away by the arm so fast she nearly tripped.

“Stop that.” His voice had been low, warning, his grip tight around her wrist.

She had only grinned up at him, all innocence. “Stop what?”

His glare had been thunderous. “You know exactly what.”

Mira had tilted her head, feigning confusion. “You mean talking to your friends?”

Torvyn’s jaw had locked. “You don’t need to talk to them like that.”

Like that. As if he could dictate how she smiled, how she laughed, how she teased. As if she were still his little sister to shield from the world.

Mira had narrowed her eyes. “What exactly do you think I’m going to do? Fall in love with one of them? Navigators forbid, I actually enjoy their company.”

Torvyn had run a hand down his face, clearly trying to keep his patience intact. “They’re idiots. They only like the idea of you, Mira.”

That had made her blood boil. She had stepped closer, arms crossed. "You mean they only like the idea of their friend's sister?"

Torvyn had grimaced. “That’s not what I... ”

But she had already shoved past him. “Maybe I like the idea of them.” He had cursed under his breath, catching her wrist before she could stalk off.

“You don’t.” His voice had been frustrated, tired, something almost pleading beneath it.

She didn’t. Maybe she had only done it to annoy him. To remind him that she wasn’t a child anymore. But she had still yanked her hand free. Still glanced back at him with a smirk.

“Watch me.”

???

Seven Years Ago

Mira had hated dancing. Hated the stiff posture, the rigid steps, the way the tutors clicked their tongues in disapproval whenever she got something wrong.

But Torvyn? Torvyn had excelled. Every movement had been measured, poised, flawless. Mira had stumbled through every lesson, her feet too fast, her patience too thin. Until one afternoon.

The tutors had given up on her. Torvyn had stayed behind. She had watched as he crossed the ballroom, his expression exasperated. Then, he offered her his hand.

“Try again,” he had said simply.

She had scowled. "You’re not my teacher."

“No,” he had agreed. "I’m your brother. And I refuse to let you embarrass me at court."

She had smacked his shoulder. He sighed and took her hand. They danced. No tutors, no expectations. Just him leading, and adjusting to her mistakes. Both of them moving with the music, the way they were supposed to.

By the time they had stopped, her feet ached, but she had been smiling.

“So you’re not a lost cause,” Torvyn had told her, grinning.

She had shoved him. But after that, she didn't dread dancing again.

???

Eleven Years Ago

She had called it. Fair and clear. Everyone knew calling it first meant it was yours. So when Mira walked into their rooms and saw Torvyn lounging in her chair, legs kicked out, book open, looking completely smug, she nearly choked on her own breath.

"That's my chair," she said, glaring.

Torvyn didn’t even glance up from the page. "Doesn’t have your name on it."

“I called it, Torvyn.” He hummed, casually turning a page.

“I don’t think calling it counts if no one else agrees to the rules.”

Mira scowled. “Everyone agrees to the rules. That’s why they’re the rules.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even pretend to care. She did the only reasonable thing. She marched across the room, grabbed the back of the chair, and tipped it.

Torvyn yelped as he tumbled to the floor, limbs and book flying in every direction.

Mira stepped over the mess, flopped into the chair, and opened her book with great satisfaction. “Called it.”

Torvyn groaned from the floor, rubbing the back of his head. “You’re a menace.”

She didn’t even look up. “And you’re in my spot.”

???

Eighteen Years Ago

Mira didn't understand. She had stood in the grand hall, small and confused, as the murmurs of courtiers swelled around her.

Someone had whispered, Lady Solwynd is gone. Torvyn had stood beside her, rigid and silent.

She had tugged at his sleeve, searching his face, searching for answers. "Torvyn...?"

He had looked wrong. Too still. Too quiet. When he finally turned toward her, his eyes were red, like he was holding something inside his chest that he refused to let spill. But his hands shook. And when he stood in front of her, grasping her shoulders, his fingers trembled against her skin.

"Don't cry," he had whispered. "They’ll watch if you cry."

Mira hadn’t cried. Not then. Not until much later. Not until the hall was empty. Until Torvyn had taken her hand and led them back to their quarters, closed the door, and let himself crumble.

She had held his hand. Tight.

???