I glance sideways at him. Moonlight catches along the sharp line of his jaw, silvering the dark fabric at his collar and the strands of his hair fallen loose near his forehead. There is exhaustion in him tonight, though he hides it better than most men ever could.
I wonder if he realizes I know the difference now.
“I needed to see something,” I say.
“And did you?”
“Yes.”
That earns his full attention.
The camp below us glows against the dark valley while the silence stretches comfortably between us for once, no sharp edges hidden beneath it, no unspoken threat waiting to surface. Strange how unfamiliar peace can feel after surviving too long inside tension.
Finally he asks, “What did you see?”
I lean back slightly against the stone behind me, staring upward where clouds drift slowly across the night sky. “I spent a long time believing every future ended the same way.”
“With someone trying to use you.”
“Yes.”
He says nothing.
“I kept waiting for it,” I continue quietly. “From Zethon. From Velkiron. From you.”
His gaze remains on me now, steady and unreadable in the dark.
“And now?”
“Now I can’t find a single future where you try.”
The honesty of it feels strangely intimate. More dangerous than confession should.
Vaedros looks away first, toward the fires below. “That should probably concern you.”
“It would,” I reply softly, “if I thought you were lying.”
A faint smile touches his mouth before disappearing again.
“I’m rarely dishonest with you.”
“You were at the beginning.”
“Yes.” He doesn’t bother denying it. “You were difficult to predict.”
“I still am.”
“That part hasn’t improved.”
I laugh quietly at that, and the sound surprises both of us a little.
The wind moves colder across the ridge. Vaedros notices before I do, reaching to pull his cloak free from his shoulders and draping it around me without asking permission first. The fabric still carries warmth from his skin.
“You’ll freeze out here,” he says.
“And you won’t?”
“I’m less fragile.”