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She could’ve seen the kiss as a gesture of kindness. A moment of comfort before a hard night. He had a habit of gathering scraps and turning them into something more than they really were. Maybe she didn’t care the same way. If friendship was all she wanted, he’d count himself lucky to have even that.

It had to be enough.

Moonlight reflected off the still surface of the lake—the hands of a clock that wouldn’t stop advancing. He stomped around the bank, boots crunching in the damp dirt.

These stupid feelings were a distraction he couldn’t afford. His job was to protect her. To protect all of them. He couldn’t do that if he was too flustered to draw his sword. There’d be time later—if they survived—to figure everything else out.

That’s when he noticed the warmth at his hip; a solid weight he’d forgotten was there. The whisperstone. He almost missed a step, and his foolish heart betrayed him, pounding in his ears. Fumbling the flap open, he took a breath and reached in. His fingers curled around the smooth stone.

If we did travel together…

The words were cautious, tinged with feelings he could almost read—nervous expectation and a tired tendril of hope.

…where would we start?

The message reverberated in his chest like a victory bell. A shard of hope he could hold onto. Maybe he hadn’t ruined things between them after all.

There had to be a correct answer; he simply needed to find it. His thoughts flitted across all the possibilities. There’d never been a thought of going to a place to experience it. He’d always been too busy looking over his shoulder.

Someplace they’d both enjoy…

He’d lived near the Auric Coast all his life, grew up with the scent of salt in the air, but never seen the ocean. The ache burned so strongly in his chest he desperately hoped she couldn’t feel it.

Maybe the coast. I think you’d like it.

A moment later, the whisperstone warmed again. This time, the feeling sent to him was a smile—easy and affectionate—comfort without pressure.

That sounds nice. I’ll see you soon.

It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t even a likely future for either of them. But it stabbed right through the armor of denial he’d been trying to hide behind. He let the whisperstone slip from his fingers; it fell heavily into his pocket.

His thoughts narrowed in a way he’d never experienced before—a quiet settling that was comforting and weighty all at once. The future had always been untouchable—something only other people were allowed to have. But her words made imagining one with her feel natural.

He dropped onto the sandy bank and stared at the water.

This was why her resignation made him furious. He wasn’t afraid of some prophecy that might not even come true. It was the idea that she might sacrifice herself, that he might face a future without her, that lodged in his chest like a wound that wouldn’t heal. That was the fear he didn’t want to admit even to himself—that she’d become someone he couldn’t bear to lose.

The truth settled in with terrifying clarity. It was foolish to think that not naming a thing would make it disappear. This was rooted deep in his bones. He couldn’t draw it out even if he tried.

He was in love with her.

There was no undoing that now.

The night stretched around him, calm and dark. Even if she never felt the same. Even if she stopped being a part of his life altogether, he knew he’d spend every day wishing for one more moment beside her. He pushed himself to his feet.

Couldn’t have chosen worse timing.

He certainly couldn’t say anything to Wren.

Get through this first, help Thistlehold, then maybe…

He definitely needed that walk now. He’d make one loop around the lake, give her time to settle. The moon rose higher as he circled back toward the cottages. Surely enough time had passed by now.

The air went still.

The sound of insects, even the gust of evening wind, ceased. The hair rose on the back of his neck. He slowed. His muscles coiled. His reached over his shoulder, fist clenching around the hilt of the sword, drawing it as he scanned the shadows.

Beneath the trees ahead, a shape moved in the darkness. It crept through the brush, its imposing form stalking with predatory grace. Orzen followed, steps silent. There was something familiar in its gait—a deep recognition that sent a chill up Orzen’s spine.