DAIN

The mountains stretch before us like an endless graveyard, jagged stone peaks sharp against the deepening sky. We move through them in silence, the wind whistling through the crags, carrying the scent of damp rock and old storms. I prefer the silence.

Liora doesn’t.

I feel her gaze flicker toward me, stealing glances, searching.

For what? An answer? An explanation? A shred of something she can hold onto?

She won’t find it.

The magic lingers on my skin, an unwelcome thing, a reminder of what she did. Of what she is.

Purna.

I should resent her for it.

I do.

Yet, when I glance at her, at the way she stumbles slightly on the uneven ground, exhaustion dragging at her limbs, her breath uneven but stubbornly silent, resentment is not the only thing that lingers.

My hands twitch at my sides, itching to grab her. To steady her.

Instead, I speak.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “I saved your life.”

I stop. She does, too.

The wind howls between us, carrying everything unspoken.

I take a step forward, closing the space between us until she has to tilt her head to meet my gaze. “You call that saving me?” My voice is low, rough. “You think I wanted that?”

Her eyes flash. “Would you rather be dead?”

I don’t answer.

Her lips part slightly, as if she already knows the answer, and it infuriates her.

She shoves past me, her shoulder brushing against my chest, warm despite the cold. “Then next time,” she mutters, “I’ll let you bleed out.”

A growl rumbles in my throat. I turn, grabbing her before she can get too far.

She gasps, whirling toward me, anger simmering beneath the surface, frustration burning brighter than fear.

Good.

“Do not use magic again.” The words cut through the night, sharp as a blade.

She yanks herself free. “I didn’t exactly have a choice!”

I step closer. “You always have a choice.”

She laughs, bitter, disbelieving. “That’s easy for you to say.”

She turns again, marching ahead, moving with more force than her body can handle.