Page 29 of The Demon's Little Girl
But old habits die hard, and hope still feels like a luxury I can't afford. Safer to expect nothing and be pleasantly surprised than to hope for everything and be crushed when it doesn't materialize. I've spent two years learning to protect myself this way. I'm not sure I remember how to do anything else.
Nalla settles back against my side with a contented sigh, already drifting toward sleep again. Her trust is absolute—in me, in this place, in the idea that tomorrow will be just as safe as today. She has no reason to doubt, no context for the fear that keeps me awake most nights.
Maybe that's enough for now. Maybe keeping her safe and happy is all I need to focus on, instead of trying to untangle the mess of feelings and expectations that comes with being back. She's what matters. Everything else is just noise.
But as I adjust the blanket around both of us and try to find a comfortable position for sleep, Avenor's words echo in my head like a challenge I'm not sure I'm ready to accept. The possibility that I'm home—really home—instead of justtemporarily sheltered. That the careful distance I'm maintaining is protection I don't actually need.
That maybe, just maybe, I'm worth more than I've convinced myself I am.
The thought follows me toward sleep, dangerous and persistent and impossible to shake.
15
ROVAK
Four days of this careful dance around each other, and I'm done pretending it makes sense.
I pull on a clean shirt, the familiar weight of the fabric settling across my shoulders as I consider what the fuck I'm actually doing. For four days, I've been treating Liora like she's made of glass—keeping my distance, speaking in careful measured tones, acting like she might disappear again if I breathe too loudly in her direction. Like she's some fragile thing that needs protecting from my own presence.
It's bullshit, and Avenor's been telling me as much with every pointed look and raised eyebrow he can manage. Yesterday he actually rolled his eyes when I handed Liora her dinner and retreated without so much as sitting down to share it. "Coward," he'd muttered under his breath, not quite quiet enough for me to miss it.
He's right. I am being a coward. But the shock of seeing her again—Liora, after two years of searching and wondering and imagining the worst—hit me harder than I expected. And seeing her with a child, with Nalla... that tiny girl with her pale gold eyesand budding horns who looked at me without fear and reached for me like she belonged there.
It shook me enough that I've been avoiding Liora since.
The questions have been eating at me alive. Where has Liora been? Who is Nalla's father? Was she taken, or did she choose to leave? Did someone hurt her? Did someone love her? The not knowing is worse than any answer could be, but I haven't pushed because the careful way she holds herself tells me everything I need to know about how much she's willing to share right now.
Which is exactly nothing.
I fasten the buckles on my leather vest, checking my reflection in the polished metal mirror mounted near the window. Same face looking back at me—angular features carved from dark stone, horns that sweep back in sharp curves, black eyes that most people find intimidating. The face of a trade master who's built his reputation on being uncompromising and direct.
Not the face of someone who's spent four days tiptoeing around his own feelings like a nervous boy.
The truth is, I don't know what to make of this situation. Liora was brought back by a slaver—dragged here against her will, technically. She didn't choose to return. That means she might have a life somewhere else, people who matter to her, reasons for staying away that have nothing to do with me. And if that's the case, then what right do I have to keep her here? To assume she wants to stay just because this used to be her home?
The idea of letting her go again, of watching her walk away by choice this time, makes something cold and vicious coil in my chest. But I won't trap her here with obligations or guilt. Won't make her feel like she owes me something just because I've spent two years looking for her.
Even if the thought of her leaving again might actually kill me.
But I can't keep avoiding her like she's contagious. Can't keep pretending this strange, careful politeness is sustainable when what I really want is to sit across from her at breakfast and listen to her make those dry observations that used to make me laugh. To see her smile—really smile, not the careful, guarded expression she's been wearing since she got back.
I want to know she's safe. Want to know she's here because she chooses to be, not because she feels trapped by circumstance or obligation. And I want things between us to feel... normal. Whatever normal means now.
Time to stop being a coward.
The walk to her room feels longer than it should, my boots silent on the stone floors as I make my way through the quiet halls. It's early enough that most of the household is still asleep, the kind of peaceful morning hour that used to belong to just the two of us. Back when she'd meet me in the kitchen for tea and we'd talk about nothing important while the rest of the world woke up around us.
I miss that. Miss her. Miss the easy way we used to exist in the same space without all this careful distance and unspoken tension.
When I reach her door, I pause for a moment, listening for sounds of movement inside. There's a soft murmur of voices—Liora talking to Nalla in the gentle tone she uses when she thinks no one's listening. Something about the sound loosens the tight band around my chest. She's here. She's safe. Everything else we can figure out.
I knock, two quiet raps that won't startle either of them if they're still half-asleep.
"Come in."
Her voice is cautious, like she's not sure who to expect. When I push the door open and step inside, I find her sitting on the bed with Nalla cradled in her arms, both of them caught in thesoft golden light streaming through the window. Liora's dark hair is loose around her shoulders, caught between messy from sleep and deliberately styled, and she's wearing one of the simple dresses I had the household staff find for her—deep blue fabric that brings out the amber in her eyes.
She looks beautiful. She looks tired. She looks like she's bracing herself for bad news.
