The fire had burned low when his breathing changed.
No more shallow, ragged pulls. No more faint twitch of fingers. His chest rose with steady strength now, each inhale measured, controlled.
I straightened from where I'd been leaning against the cave wall, exhaustion dragging at my bones. My magic still smoldered weakly in my veins, but I forced myself to my feet and moved to his side.
His eyes opened
Golden. Bright, molten, unwavering. No haze of fever this time. No half-conscious rambling. He was awake, and fully aware.
For a moment, we just stared at each other. The air between us felt too still, too heavy, as though the cave itself held its breath.
"You're safe here," I said quietly, breaking the silence.
His gaze flicked over the walls, to the faint runes still glowing in the stone. Then back to me. "Where is 'here'?"
"A cave. My cave." My voice came out sharper than I intended, edged with nerves. "No one can find you. Not unless I let them."
His jaw flexed, but he didn't argue. Instead, he shifted against the furs, testing his strength. He didn't wince. Didn't groan. Just moved like a predator gauging his cage.
At last, his attention pinned me again. "Who are you?"
I hesitated. Names were power. I'd learned that young. But something about those eyes demanded truth.
"I'm a witch," I said finally.
For the first time since he'd woken, something flickered across his face—surprise, faint and quickly masked.
"A witch," he repeated slowly, as though tasting the word.
"Yes." My chin lifted, defiant. "And before you start, no—I don't steal babies, or drink blood, or whatever else your kind whispers. I heal. I protect. And I just dragged you back from death, so a little gratitude wouldn't kill you."
His lips curved, the ghost of a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Gratitude," he murmured, as though the word was foreign to him.
I bristled. "You're lucky, you know. The forest isn't safe at night. There are demons out there—hunters, raiders. If they'd found you first…"
I trailed off, shaking my head. "You wouldn't have lasted an hour.
For a heartbeat, silence stretched thick between us. Then his mouth tilted into something that wasn't a smile at all.
"Demons," he echoed, his voice low, unreadable. "And you think I should be afraid of them?"
I scowled. "Of course you should. Everyone should."
He studied me, golden eyes steady, and something in his expression made the hairs rise on the back of my neck. Like he was laughing at me without a sound.
But all he said was, "And yet you're not afraid."
"I didn't say that." My fingers curled into fists at my sides. "I just don't let fear stop me."
He leaned back slightly, gaze still locked to mine. Then, softer, almost curious: "Why save me, then? You don't know me. You don't know what I've done."
The question hit harder than it should have.
I swallowed, forcing my voice steady. "Because you were dying. And because I couldn't walk away."
Something flickered in his eyes then, quick and sharp, like a spark in the dark. He didn't smile this time. Didn't mock me. Just watched, silent, as though he was trying to see through my skin to the truth beneath.
It made my stomach twist.
I dropped my gaze first, moving to stir the fire. Sparks leapt against the cave walls, painting him in shifting gold.
"You need rest," I muttered. "The chains burned deep. You'll heal, but not if you keep pushing."
"I heal quickly." His voice was quiet, but certain.
"Not from that." I glanced at his wrists, raw and scarred where the runes had seared his skin. "Those chains were meant to kill."
His gaze followed mine, expression unreadable. Then, just as softly, "Not this time."
The way he said it made my chest tighten, though I couldn't have said why.
I turned back to the fire, unwilling to let him see my face.
The silence that followed wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't empty either. He watched me. I could feel it—steady, sharp, unyielding.
Finally, I said, "You should sleep. I'll keep the wards strong."
"Wards?"
I gestured to the faintly glowing runes. "Seals. No one can hear us. Nothing can get in."
He studied the walls for a long moment, then looked back at me. "You're powerful, for a witch."
It wasn't quite a compliment. More like an observation.
I shrugged. "Power doesn't matter. What you do with it does."
His gaze lingered. "And you used yours on me."
"Yes." I swallowed, throat dry. "Don't make me regret it."
That earned me the smallest curve of his mouth, though whether it was amusement or challenge, I couldn't tell.
But he said nothing more.
He only lay back against the furs, eyes still open, still burning faintly gold in the dark.
And though I told myself to look away, I couldn't.
Not until exhaustion dragged me under.