I almost smile. “I was younger.”
“You still are,” he replies, and this time there’s something different in it. Softer. Less deliberate.
He leans his head back slightly against the stone, his breathing evening out just enough that I know the pain has dulled, even if only for now.
“Come here,” he says quietly.
I hesitate. Not long. Just enough to feel it.
Then I move.
I sit closer this time, within reach, close enough that the warmth from the fire isn’t the only thing I feel. My hand rests lightly against his side again, checking the bandage without asking, adjusting it just enough to keep it from pulling when he shifts.
His gaze drops to the movement, then back to my face.
“You’re careful,” he says.
“I’m trying not to let you die,” I reply.
“That’s not what I meant.”
I pause, then continue adjusting the fabric, more slowly now.
“I know,” I say.
His hand moves before I expect it, not fast, not forceful, just enough to catch my wrist lightly where it rests against him, stopping the motion for a second.
“Careful, little seer,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, closer. “You’re starting to sound like you intend to keep me.”
The words should feel like a threat. I meet his gaze, holding it for a second longer than I should.
“Only until tomorrow,” I say quietly.
Something changes in his expression again. Subtle. Real. Then he lets go. And the moment passes.
30
VAEDROS
Morning arrives the day after the theft without softness. The cave holds the same shape it did through the night, the same quiet containment of stone and low fire, but something in the air has shifted. The stillness is thinner now. Temporary. Measured against what comes next.
I am already awake when she moves.
Aeryn doesn’t speak at first. She doesn’t need to. The tension between us has settled into something defined, something waiting rather than uncertain, and when she turns toward me, I see it in the set of her shoulders, in the way her gaze meets mine without hesitation.
She knew this was coming.
“So, we’re no longer delaying the conversation.”
“No,” she replies. “We’re not.”
Silence follows, brief but sharp, and I push myself upright despite the pull along my side, ignoring the warning it sends through muscle and bone. The movement is slower than it should be. That irritates me more than the pain.
She notices.
“You shouldn’t?—”
“I decide what I should do,” I cut in, my gaze locking onto hers as I force myself to stand.