Page 134 of Warlord's Plaything

Like if I think about it enough, maybe it won’t be true.

Maybe I’ll crawl out of this hole and they’ll be waiting for me, grinning, calling me a stubborn bitch like they always do.

But they’re not.

And they never will be again.

I failed them.

I wasn’t strong enough.

Because for all the power that coursed through my veins, for all the magic I unleashed, for all the fucking devastation I left in my wake?—

I still couldn’t save them.

"Hira."

The voice cuts through the fog.

I don’t look up.

He’s been watching me from across the chamber for the last hour.

He’s given me space. Time.

But I don’t deserve it.

I don’t deserve any fucking kindness.

"We need to talk."

"No, we don’t."

I barely recognize my own voice. Hoarse. Flat. Dead.

My hands clench into fists against my thighs, fingernails digging into skin, pain the only thing anchoring me right now.

Xyron doesn’t move.

He stands just far enough away that I can pretend he’s not waiting for me to crack.

But I can feel him—his heat, his presence, the fucking intensity of his gaze.

Like he’s trying to hold me together through sheer force of will.

Like he knows what I’m thinking.

Like he knows I’m drowning.

"Stop acting like you’re the only one suffering."

Something inside me snaps.

The grief. The exhaustion. The guilt. The rage.

It all collides at once.

I push to my feet so fast my vision swims.

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