Page 221 of Emylia

Afraid of disappointing. Afraid our weaknesses would be our undoing.

“V.”

Her eyes snapped to mine, and I knew why.

I hadn’t called her that in nearly a decade. Just like she’d called me back from the cliff—that name hit like memory, like love we’d both forgotten how to carry.

“You could never disappoint me.”

She broke.

Not quietly. She physically crumbled.

Sank to her knees in the river, tears streaking down her cheeks. They spilled fast, like they’d been held back too long—like letting go was the only way to breathe.

I dropped beside her.

“What’s going on?” I asked, though I already knew this wasn’t just panic or pain.

This was grief.

“Nothing,” she sobbed.

“Clearly,” I muttered, tilting my head toward the water, stained a violent bleeding red, the color swirling downstream until it disappeared into nothingness.

"I was just... dying some dresses," she mumbled, holding up her hands, stained red to the wrists.

"And the rest of you?" I quirked a brow at her, taking in the streaks of ochre dripping from her forehead, her temples, even smudging beneath her chin. "Because unless you're planning on dyeing your whole damn self, I'm not buying it."

Evie gave a watery laugh, the sound as fragile as shattered glass. For a moment, it looked like she might hold it together.

Then she broke.

Crumbled into herself like the weight of whatever she was carrying was just too much.

Without thinking, I plunged further into the stream, water splashing high around my boots as I waded toward her.

I wrapped my arms around her, drawing her tight against me.

And the second I did—she collapsed fully, like she'd been waiting for someone to catch her all along.

"It's okay," I whispered into her hair, ignoring the red staining my hands, my sleeves, the front of my tunic.

"You're okay."

We stood there, tangled together, while the stream kept pulling the dye away—bleeding it out like it could somehow wash us clean. Like it knew the two of us were stained by something deeper than red ochre. Something written into the very blood running through our veins.

But neither of us said it.

Instead, I just held her tighter.

"Come on," I said at last, voice rough. "Let's get you cleaned up before Maalikai thinks I actually got stabbed."

“I’m not ready. Not ready to face anyone.”

So we didn’t.

We stood there for a moment longer, Evie shaking in my arms, her fists curled tight against my chest like if she let go, she'd drown.

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