Page 32 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

My heart aches for her—for what she lost, for how she still carries it.

“What about Vire?” I ask.

“I killed him.”

The fire crackles, but the world around us stills. I stare at her, expecting guilt, hesitation—something—but Roan’s face is unreadable, locked behind that familiar steel she wears like armor.

“You—” My throat tightens. “You found him?”

Roan nods once, her eyes dark, distant. “Years ago. He thought I wouldn’t come for him. Thought he’d slip away into some cushy contract under a different name.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “I made sure he knew he was wrong.”

I search her expression, waiting for regret, but there is none. Not even relief.

“How?” I whisper, though I’m not sure I want to know.

Roan exhales through her nose, tilting her head back slightly as if weighing how much to say. “It wasn’t quick.” A pause. “It wasn’t clean.”

A shiver runs through me—not from fear, but from the sheerfinalityin her voice. She’s done what needed to be done, and she hasn’t looked back.

I swallow, my pulse uneven, then say, “I’ve killed people too.”

Roan’s gaze sharpens, but she doesn’t speak. She justwaits.

“Not for revenge,” I murmur, my voice quieter than before. “Not for anything as justified as what Vire did to you. I’ve killed people simply because theyexisted.Because…it was what was expected of me.”

The fire flickers between us, casting moving shadows over her face. When Roan finally speaks, her voice is softer than I expect.

“Did you want to?”

A breath shudders out of me. I shake my head. “No.”

She watches me, her expression unreadable, and then, slowly, she reaches out. Her fingers brush over the back of my hand—tentative, uncertain. I turn my palm upward and lace my fingers through hers.

For a long time, we sit like that, staring into the flames, quiet but comforted by each other.

At some point, my body sags against her. I don’t remember deciding to lean into her warmth, don’t remember when my head finds the solid curve of her shoulder. But I do remember the steady rise and fall of her breath, the way she doesn’t move away.

And for the first time in a long time, I sleep deeply.

Roan

Idon’tmove.

Not for a long time.

The fire has burned low, little more than glowing embers now, but I stay perfectly still, barely breathing, afraid that even the smallest shift will wake her.

Aria is curled against me, her head resting on my shoulder, her body warm despite the chill creeping into the night. Her breath is soft, steady—completely unguarded in a way I’ve never seen before. And our hands… I glance down at them, still laced together, my calloused fingers curled around hers.

I could pull away. Ishouldpull away. But I don’t.

Instead, I sit there, staring at the way her smaller hand fits against mine, tracing the contrast of her pale skin against my rougher knuckles. It shouldn’t feel so easy. It shouldn’t feel likethis.

But it does.

The weight of her is grounding, and for the first time in years, I don’t feel like I need to keep watch. I should—I always should—but something in the way she leans into me, something in the way her fingers stayed tangled with mine even in sleep… It makes my chest ache.

I swallow hard, tilting my head slightly to look at her.

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