Page 131 of The Shattered Rite
“You think that protects you?”
She met his eyes, steady now. “It makes you dangerous. But it doesn’t make you my enemy.”
Malric tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable. But something in his gaze flickered. A fracture.
“And you,” she added, “aren’t sure if you want to be.”
He didn’t deny it.
Instead, after a long silence, his voice came low and strange.
“You’re the first person who’s looked at me like I’m anything but a blade.”
Her throat tightened.
“And you’re the first one who hasn’t looked at me like I’m cursed.”
He smiled faintly. Not sharp. Not cold.
Just sad.
A long silence stretched.
She met his gaze. "Who do you work for, Malric? Whose assassin are you?"
His silence held like a blade.
"You know I can’t answer that," he said softly.
"Why not?"
"Because then you’d know who I might be sent to kill next." His expression flickered. "And I’m trying very hard not to make you run."
She breathed a quiet laugh. "That’s your strategy? Vague menace and terrible charm?"
"I prefer ‘disarming honesty.’"
She smiled. Small. Real. "It’s working."
For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt suspended. Like the air itself was waiting.Eliryn wasn’t sure what unsettled her more: the fact that he meant it, or the fact that some part of her believed him. His gaze didn’t waver, steady as if he’d already decided something about her that she couldn’t see yet. And for the first time in days, she wasn’t thinking about trials or pain or the weight of her own fear. She was thinking about him.
Her voice was almost hesitant. "Eliryn."
"What?"
"That’s my name. Figured you should know."
Something shifted behind his eyes. Not surprise. Recognition.
"Eliryn," he said. He tasted it. "Fitting."
"Why?"
He smiled. Soft and unreadable. "Strong. Sharp. Hard to forget."
She swallowed. The sound of her name in his mouth did something strange to her chest.
"I don’t know what to make of you," she confessed.
