I feel the sharp, brutal bite of rage rip through my heart.
The weight of the betrayal, of my own stupidity, crashing into me like a goddamn war hammer.
I let myself be fooled.
I let her touch me.
She whispered my name like she still had the right.
And all along—this was her plan.
To lead me right into this.
A slow, mocking exhale slips from my lips.
"Aereth."
Her name tastes like poison.
Her expression softens, but it’s not real.
"Zephiran," she murmurs, taking a single step closer.
A warning bell screams in my head.
I composed myself, willing my mind and heart to not let any emotion slip.
She can’t see how deep the wound she just left in me truly is.
Instead, I tilt my chin slightly, letting a slow, sharp smirk pull at my mouth.
"I should have buried you myself."
Her smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it widens.
Aereth has cornered me successfully and she relishes in it.
I feel the shift before I see it.
The subtle movement of blades unsheathing.
The slow, calculated repositioning of bodies.
They aren’t attacking yet.
They think they got me because of Aereth’s presence.
I am surrounded, unarmed, outnumbered.
There’s no Naira. Maybe it’s for the best.
I exhale slowly, forcing myself to stay loose, forcing my grip to remain light on my sword hilt, forcing the tension in my body to become something fluid.
Something lethal.
I might be trapped?—
But I am not alone.