KAEL'S POV
The silence after the storm is the cruelest thing.
Ash drifts in the air like dead snow, each flake glowing faintly in the half-light of the ruined clearing. The others—soldiers, survivors, ghosts of my past—all keep their distance, their eyes darting between me and the shadows still bleeding faintly from my skin.
They should be afraid. I'm afraid.
Ayla doesn't let go. Her hand is still on me, her grip fierce, her fire anchoring me to the present. But the abyss presses at the edges of my thoughts, whispering with poisonous patience. "You tasted me. You need me. She won't always be enough."
I shut my eyes, jaw tight, and inhale. Her scent—wild and sharp, smoke and storm—is the only thing that keeps me steady. I cling to it. To her.
"Kael," she murmurs. Not a question. Not a plea. A tether.
