Page 22 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

“I didn’t follow you,” he says, so quietly I almost don’t catch it. “I was circling the campsite. I saw someone near the water. Thought it was a threat.”

Embarrassment flickers at the idea that I was so careless. “Of course. I—I appreciate you checking.”

He finally shifts enough to look me in the eyes again—just the faintest glimpse over his shoulder. His gaze, even in the shadows, crackles with something I can’t name. My heart lurches. Does he still function like a human man? The question leaps into my mind unbidden, set off by the hungry spark in those silver-blue irises.

I’ve never met a demon like him. Everything about him contradicts the monstrous stories I’ve heard: he’s too refined, too… heartbreakingly human in some of his mannerisms. And yet, every swirl of black marking on his skin reminds me of how far from human he’s become.

I sink deeper, letting the current tug at my limbs. My voice is unsteady, but I force the question, “Does it…does it bother you that you were once human?”

He stands silent for a heartbeat. Then he turns fully, though his gaze remains pinned to a point above my head—scrupulously avoiding my submerged body. “I don’t know if ‘bother’ is the right word,” he admits at last. “It’s more… it’s a wound that never heals. A reminder that I lost what I once was.”

His words strike me with unexpected force. I want to say something comforting, but everything that comes to mind feels inadequate. My fingers tighten on my upper arms underwater,steadying myself. “You said you’re… not at full strength. Is that… is that because of me freeing you too soon?”

A grim, humorless laugh escapes him. “Hardly. If anything, you spared me. My captivity in the mirror—some of my powers atrophied. Others are… twisted.” He exhales. “But it has nothing to do with you.”

I nod, water rippling around me. Hesitating, I venture, “I’ve never seen a demon with a conscience.”

His gaze flicks down, meeting mine. The corner of his mouth lifts in a faint, sad smile. “A conscience?”

“You helped us, more times than you had to,” I say, swallowing. “You saved me from the catacombs, from the elves, from orcs. You carry Jenna when she’s hurt. That’s… more than just a sense of debt, isn’t it?”

His jaw flexes. In the silence, the river’s lullaby fills the gap. Finally, he murmurs, “I was human. And part of me never forgot what it meant to feel… empathy.”

Warmth twists in my chest. The tension in the air seems to pulse with each breath I take. He’s so close—just a few strides away. Moonlight outlines the sharp cut of his jaw, the proud line of his shoulders. Beneath that otherworldly aura, there’s something raw, something that resonates with my own struggles.

A droplet of water trickles down my temple. I realize with a flush that I’m nearly numb from the cold, yet reluctant to leave. “I—I should probably get out,” I say, trying to sound brisk, though my voice wobbles.

He takes half a step back as if to give me space. “I’ll turn around.”

“Thank you,” I mumble.

He pivots, posture rigid. I push through the water to the bank, glancing nervously at the darkness beyond him. No lurking shadows. Quickly, I slip onto the wet stones, snatchingmy cloth and pressing it to my chest. My entire body trembles from cold and adrenaline. I wring out my hair, biting back a shiver.

Daeva’s silhouette remains politely turned. I feel a strange pang—something akin to disappointment, but I brush it aside. Wrapping the scrap of cloth around my torso, I rummage for my clothes. They’re caked in grime, hardly suitable for wearing after a bath. But it’s all I have.

When I’m decently covered—if damp rags can be called decent—I stand. “I’m… dressed now,” I say softly.

He turns, eyes flicking to my still-bare legs, then back to my face. His expression is guarded, but I catch a trace of warmth in his gaze that sends a shiver down my spine—not from cold this time.

“We should go back,” he says, voice low. “The others will worry.”

I nod, hugging my arms around myself. Together, we walk the short path through the pines. He slows his stride to match mine, as if sensing how chilled and shaky I am. For once, I don’t feel the bramble of distrust that usually knots my nerves around him. Instead, there’s a shared quiet, an understanding.

We reach the edge of camp. The fire is down to embers, a dull glow illuminating silhouettes. Silas is on his feet, crossbow in hand, scanning the darkness. The moment he spots me, relief crosses his face, followed by an uneasy frown when he notices Daeva at my side.

“You were gone a while,” Silas says, tone guarded.

I force a small smile. “I just needed to wash off.”

He glances between us, eyes narrowing slightly, like he’s putting two and two together. “Sure,” he mutters. Then, in a lower voice, “Next time you tell me you’re going off alone, I’m coming with you.”

I bristle, though part of me understands his overprotectiveness. “Silas, I wasn’t far. And?—”

He shoots another glare at Daeva, who returns a calm, unblinking stare. “You alright?” Silas asks me.

“Yes.” My cheeks flush. “I’m fine. I promise. Let’s not wake the others.”

Behind Silas, Cole dozes fitfully against the trunk of a pine, while Ryn sits near Jenna, adjusting her blanket. From the looks of it, no one else seems aware of our little nighttime interlude. My stomach flips at the memory of Daeva’s gaze, how he struggled not to look at me yet couldn’t fully turn away.

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