The trees ahead of us stretch tall and silent, their branches heavy with the weight of something ancient. The Virellen’Shai is far behind now, but its presence lingers in the back of my mind like a distant hum I can’t shake. We keep moving, faster than we should, driven by the need to put as much distance between us and the glass as possible.

  The air feels different here. The tension has shifted, but the world around us isn’t quiet—it’s alive, breathing in a way that feels unsettling. The path underfoot is soft, overgrown with moss and thick roots that twist like veins through the earth. But still, we push forward. Each of us with that same relentless need to get away.

  The tension isn’t just in the glass—it’s in us, in the way our bodies refuse to relax, even as the danger slips behind us.

  “Just a little farther,” Apolloh says, glancing back over his shoulder, though there’s nothing to see but the shifting trees. “We need to keep moving until we’re sure it won’t follow.”

  But the longer we move, the more I feel my body protesting. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving behind the heavy exhaustion I’ve been pushing aside. Zia looks no better, and even Jaxe’s sharp eyes seem dull with the effort. We’re all carrying the weight of what just happened, trying not to let it crush us.

  We push forward for another hour or so, before Apolloh finally slows and motions for us to stop.

  “This is as good a place as any,” he says, his voice low and strained. He looks at me, his brow furrowed with concern. “We need rest. All of us.”

  I nod, my feet dragging, and the rest of the group starts to find spots under the trees. Caelen sets up a perimeter, while the others settle in the shadowed quiet of the forest. I try to find a spot that feels safe—somewhere that feels far from the glass, though I know it’s not really the distance that keeps it away.

  We don’t speak much. Each of us lost in our own thoughts. I pull my knees up to my chest and close my eyes, hoping to let sleep wash over me, though my mind refuses to quiet.

  What if it was me back there, on the glass? And what if it’s not just a reflection, but something else trying to take me over? What if the glass was a test? A warning?

  And then, in the back of my mind, the hum starts again. Quiet at first, like a distant heartbeat. But this time, it’s not coming from the glass. It’s coming from somewhere deeper—inside me.

  The forest had its own kind of silence. Not the hollow, choking quiet of the Virellen’Shai, but something deeper—older. The wind moved through the trees like it remembered things, whispering low and slow. Moss muffled every step, and the roots curled like sleeping limbs beneath the earth.

  I sat with my back to a tree, knees pulled to my chest, arms folded over them. Around me, the others had begun to settle. Zia was lying near the edge of the clearing, arms behind her head, eyes half-closed but alert. Jaxe had taken to pacing a short distance, then finally dropped down onto a fallen log and went still. Caelen was quiet, speaking in hushed tones to one of the warriors before taking a spot against the far trunk. Apolloh hadn’t said much since we stopped—he stayed close, always close, but even he seemed lost in thought now, staring into the forest like he could see something I couldn’t.

  No one talked about what we’d seen on the glass. No one asked about the things that had twisted behind the surface, or the version of me that looked back.

  The quiet suited me, even if it pressed too close.

  There was a hum inside me. Faint, like a string vibrating in a hollow space. I’d felt it ever since we crossed the glass, but it had started even before then—beneath the reflection, beneath the thing that mimicked me. I’d thought it was fear, or power, or maybe something the glass had stirred loose.

  But now, it sat like a stone behind my ribs.

  It wasn’t loud. Not yet. Just… present. A wrongness I couldn’t name.

  I closed my eyes and tried to ignore it. The others needed this rest. I needed this rest.

  And whatever the hum was, it wasn’t screaming. Not yet.

  So I breathed in slow, letting the forest wrap around me. The sound of wind. The warmth of Apolloh near enough to touch. The steady rhythm of people alive, and real, and here.

  ——

  Sleep didn’t come gently.

  It pulled.

  One moment I was staring at the trees, listening to the soft rustle of wind above us. The next, the world folded, and I was somewhere else entirely.

  There was no ground. No sky. Just blackness, humming with pressure. Like I was trapped inside something vast, something breathing. I turned—though I couldn’t feel my body—and there were eyes. Hundreds of them. Thousands. They didn’t blink. They didn’t move. But they watched.

  And then—

  The forest again. Twisted, wrong. Trees bent backward, roots crawling across the ground like veins. The sky above bled silver. The air was thick, every breath like pulling in smoke. And in the middle of it all, I saw… me.

  Or—no. Not me. Sahrathei.

  Eyes white as frost. Skin pale like moonstone. Veins black. Smiling.

  She tilted her head at me, hair lifting as if caught in a breeze that wasn’t there. “You’ve started to remember,” she whispered, voice like glass on stone. “It’s almost time.”

  I tried to speak. My mouth wouldn’t move.

  “You think you’ve held the lock shut,” she said, stepping closer, bare feet cracking the strange soil beneath her. “But it’s been turning from the inside all this time.”

  The forest shuddered. The sky cracked open like an eye.

  And something behind her moved.

  Something enormous.

  I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t run.

  Then the ground beneath me fell away—and I was falling into her eyes.

  Falling.

  Falling.

  Falling—

  ?

  I jerked awake with a gasp, heart hammering, limbs thrashing before I could stop myself.

  Apolloh was already on his feet.

  But he wasn’t reaching for me.

  He was backing away from me.

  His eyes were wide—wild. I had never seen that look on his face. Not in battle. Not in grief. Not even when the storm first hit and everything started unraveling.

  Pure, unfiltered terror.

  “Laika,” he breathed, voice cracking.

  “What?” My throat was dry, my chest heaving. “What’s—?”

  He didn’t answer.

  He was staring at my hands.

  And I followed his gaze.

  They were glowing. Faint, pale—white light bleeding through my skin like veins turned to starlight.

  And they were shaking.

  Not with fear.

  With energy.

  Something inside me had woken up.

  And it didn’t want to go back to sleep.

  I clenched my fists on instinct.

  The glow dimmed—just barely—but it was still there, pulsing beneath my skin like it had roots. I could feel it humming up my arms, into my chest, into my teeth. A thrumming rhythm that didn’t belong to my heartbeat. Didn’t belong to me.

  “I—” My voice caught. “I didn’t mean to—”

  Apolloh didn’t move.

  He didn’t blink.

  I’d seen him in battle. I’d seen him angry, seen him quiet, seen him broken.

  But I had never seen him like this. Like he was looking at something he didn’t recognize. Like he wanted to run and knew there was nowhere left to go.

  “Apolloh.” I reached toward him, slowly. “It’s me.”

  He flinched.

  Just barely. But it was enough.

  I pulled my hand back like it had burned.

  He took a breath. One. Then another. I watched him shove the fear down like a thing he didn’t want anyone to see. Not even me.

  “I saw something,” he said at last, voice tight. “Just… for a second. When you woke up. When the light hit your face.”

  “What did you see?”

  He didn’t answer.

  And that scared me more than anything else.

  “I’m still me,” I whispered.

  He looked at me, jaw tight. “Are you?”

  Silence snapped between us. Cold. Sharp.

  My hands were still glowing.

  He stepped forward. Slowly. Like approaching something dangerous.

  Then he reached out, just enough to take my wrist in his hand. His thumb brushed against the light.

  He flinched again—but didn’t let go.

  “I won’t tell the others,” he said, low. “Not yet.”

  The implication settled between us like dust.

  Not yet.

  I held my breath, unsure if I was more afraid of him, or of what I might do if I moved again.

  Apolloh’s hand still rested against my wrist, but his touch was feather-light now. Like I might shatter. Like he might.

  “I didn’t mean for this,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I didn’t even know—”

  “You think that matters?”

  The words weren’t cruel, but they cut like they were.

  Apolloh wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t shaking. That would’ve been easier.

  He was calm. Terrifyingly calm. Like his fear had already rooted into something colder. Sharper.

  “I saw something when you woke up,” he said, still staring at my hand. “Not in the light. Behind it.”

  I didn’t ask what. I didn’t want to know.

  “Was it… me?” I whispered.

  He didn’t answer.

  I tried to pull back again, but he caught my hand—not hard, but enough. Enough to make me look up at him.

  His voice dropped to a whisper.

  “You can’t let them see this.”

  I nodded.

  “No one. Not Zia. Not Caelen. Not even Jaxe.”

  “I said I understand.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but the weight of it pressed down like a second heartbeat.

  He let me go.

  I curled my hand into a fist as the last trace of light faded.

  For now.

  ?

  Morning crept in slow.

  The others stirred as the fog between the trees began to lift. The forest looked the same. Too calm. Too quiet.

  No one noticed anything different about me.

  Apolloh was already up, moving through camp like nothing had happened.

  I mirrored him. I smiled when I had to. Answered questions. Nodded when Zia muttered about continuing east.

  But the hum in my chest was louder today. Sharper.

  And when I looked down at my palm, just for a second, I thought I saw the glow again. Just beneath the skin.

  Still sleeping. But not for long.

  We moved as the light deepened through the trees, not speaking much.

  No one questioned why I kept glancing at my hands.

  No one noticed the way Apolloh watched me from behind—never too close, never too far.

  Just enough to step in if I started glowing again.

  We left the memory of the Virellen’Shai behind us, but it didn’t leave us. Not really. I could still feel it—like echoes trailing behind my boots. The forest didn’t feel cleansed. It felt like it was holding its breath.

  And that hum inside me? It was still there. But it wasn’t just a noise anymore.

  It had layers.

  Voices I couldn’t quite hear.

  Images I didn’t want to see.

  And something beating. Waiting. Watching.

  I kept walking.

  Then Zia stopped.

  She was ahead of us, one knee to the ground, fingers brushing a patch of broken underbrush.

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  She didn’t speak. Didn’t have to.

  We felt it.

  The air changed. Thickened.

  A pressure like something just missed us—like we’d stepped into the wake of a storm that didn’t announce itself.

  Then Caelen knelt beside her. He ran two fingers through the dirt, then looked up, expression grim.

  “They were here,” he muttered.

  “Who?” Apolloh asked.

  Caelen didn’t answer. Not with words.

  He reached into the underbrush and pulled out a shard of bark—charred, split, and streaked with vein-like burn marks.

  I stepped closer and felt my breath catch.

  The burns weren’t from fire.

  They were from inside the tree. Like the thing had been scorched from the inside out.

  Apolloh’s hand went to his blade.

  Jaxe looked toward the trees, then back at me. His eyes narrowed. “How fresh?”

  Zia stood, silent.

  Then she said it.

  “One hour. Maybe less.”

  The forest listened. It leaned.

  We kept moving—but faster now. Every step tighter. Every breath pulled a little sharper.

  And through it all, the hum inside me grew deeper. It recognized something. Not in words. Not in thoughts.

  But in instinct.

  Something ahead of us…

  Was looking back.

  ——

  We moved in silence now.

  Not the kind born of discipline or caution.

  This was deeper. Animal-deep. The kind of silence prey holds when it knows it’s being watched.

  Birdsong had vanished.

  The wind didn’t stir.

  Even the leaves felt like they were holding onto secrets, trembling in a language just out of reach.

  Zia’s eyes never stopped moving. Caelen moved like a shadow. The warriors flanked our group tighter, closer—subtle at first, then not. Every rustle in the trees had a blade twitching toward it.

  Apolloh hadn’t spoken to me since the night before.

  But his silence felt different now. Not cold. Not afraid.

  Protective.

  Like he’d already made a choice and didn’t know how to say it.

  And the hum inside me? It had changed.

  It didn’t pull anymore—it listened. Like it knew what was coming.

  I saw a shimmer in the trees ahead—nothing unnatural. Just a flicker. A moment. A breath. But it made the hair on my arms lift.

  Then the ground beneath us… shuddered.

  Only once.

  Barely a tremble.

  But I felt it.

  Everyone did.

  Jaxe’s mouth opened to speak—

  Then it happened.

  The trees exploded.

  Not with fire.

  Not with sound.

  With motion. With screaming branches and splintered bark and something not right.

  Dark shapes blurred through the trunks—fast, too fast. One of the warriors was gone before we even heard his cry.

  Caelen shouted, “FORM UP!”

  Apolloh was already at my side.

  Zia vanished into shadow.

  And I—

  I felt the hum in my chest surge.

  Not warning.

  Responding.

  I turned just as one of the shapes lunged for me—and for the barest heartbeat, it locked eyes with me.

  And stopped.

  Mid-leap. Mid-snarl.

  It knew me.

  And that felt worse than anything else.

  Its eyes locked with mine—and I swear time bent.

  Bent like light does at the edge of something black and bottomless.

  It was a beast. Covered in rough, sinewed flesh that shimmered like oil in dying firelight. Claws like scythes. Eyes that didn’t glow—they devoured. A thing that shouldn’t have known my name.

  But it did.

  I didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Didn’t need to.

  The hum inside me howled.

  And it stopped moving.

  Its feet touched the earth, slow and steady, like a worshiper before an altar. It stared—not with hatred, not even hunger.

  With reverence.

  “What the hell is it doing?” someone hissed.

  But I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The hum grew louder—like it wanted something. Wanted me to—

  My heart stuttered.

  And then it knelt.

  Right there in the shattered forest. That thing. It dropped to one knee, claws digging into dirt, head bowed like it was kneeling before a queen. Before a god.

  The others saw.

  They all saw.

  And in the silence that followed, I—

  I felt something slip.

  My skin burned. Light flickered beneath it like gold threads unraveling. My lips parted and—

  “LAIKA!”

  Apolloh’s voice cut through everything.

  His hand grabbed mine.

  That hand.

  The one that glowed before.

  And suddenly, the hum choked. The light flickered once—then died.

  The creature lifted its head, blinked once—and screeched like it was being torn in half. Then it vanished. Fast. Into shadow.

  The others screamed. Weapons raised. Arrows loosed.

  Too late.

  It was gone.

  The others didn’t understand what they’d seen.

  Didn’t know what it meant.

  But I knew.

  Apolloh knew.

  Because that thing hadn’t attacked me.

  It had recognized me.

  That was worse than anything else.

  ——

  No one moved.

  Not really. Not at first.

  We just stood there, frozen in the wreckage of the moment.

  Somewhere behind me, a blade hit the forest floor.

  Someone whispered, “What was that?”

  Another: “Why didn’t it kill her?”

  A third: “It bowed.”

  That one hit harder than the rest.

  The word bowed hung in the air like rot. Sticky. Sour. No one wanted to claim it, but it was already growing.

  I didn’t look at them.

  I couldn’t.

  Zia was staring at me—expression unreadable, but her stance had changed. Tighter. Less “pack.” More “warrior.”

  Jaxe’s mouth was open like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the right question.

  Caelen’s brow was furrowed deep, one hand still clenched like he hadn’t even noticed the way the creature vanished.

  And Apolloh—

  He hadn’t let go of my hand.

  I squeezed once. That was enough. He released me.

  I tucked my hand behind my back, like I could hide the memory of the light still burned beneath my skin.

  Nobody said it.

  Not out loud.

  But they were all thinking it.

  What is she?

  The silence screamed.

  Then one of the warriors, his voice trembling and too loud, spat it out:

  “It looked at her like she was its mother.”

  That word. That word.

  It hit me like a slap.

  Caelen turned on him, voice sharp as steel, “Enough.”

  But the damage was done.

  Eyes were shifting. Glances shared. Questions asked in a hundred unsaid ways.

  I turned away.

  I kept walking.

  Because if I stayed still any longer, I might start to shake.

  Apolloh fell in step beside me.

  He didn’t say a word. But I felt the way his shoulder brushed mine.

  And that hum inside?

  It didn’t quiet.

  It purred.

  ——

  I kept walking.

  Because stopping meant thinking.

  And thinking meant feeling.

  And feeling right now would break me.

  The forest faded around me—blurred trees, dimming light, the hush of leaf and soil beneath boots. All of it too soft. Too quiet. Like even the world didn’t know how to react to what just happened.

  That thing.

  The way it looked at me.

  It hadn’t hated me.

  It hadn’t feared me.

  It had worshiped me.

  And I wanted to scream.

  Not from pride.

  From horror.

  Because something in me recognized it back.

  Not the shape of it. Not the claws or the eyes or the smell of burnt earth.

  But the feeling it gave off. Like some part of me had already met it before. In another life. Another self.

  Or maybe inside that hum.

  That steady, curling pressure in my bones and blood, growing louder with every step we took.

  Was it a power?

  A curse?

  Was it even mine?

  “What am I?” I whispered, the words not even meant to leave my lips.

  Apolloh didn’t react. But I felt his presence shift, just slightly. Like he’d heard it—and chose not to answer.

  Smart.

  I wouldn’t have believed him anyway.

  My thoughts kept spinning. Memories folding into feelings. That dream. The void. The light. The creature bowing.

  And all those eyes on me.

  Eyes that had followed in silence ever since.

  Not one of them had spoken to me since we left the clearing.

  Not Zia. Not Jaxe. Not even Caelen.

  They were waiting.

  I could feel it.

  The second we stop to rest—

  They’ll ask.

  They’ll corner.

  They’ll demand.

  I should be scared.

  But all I feel is this… pressure.

  Not dread. Not panic.

  Just this need to keep it contained.

  Smile. Nod. Say nothing.

  Pretend it didn’t happen.

  Let them have their theories.

  They don’t need to know the truth.

  Hell, I don’t even know the truth.

  Yet.

  ——

  Branches whispered above us as we walked, tangled like nerves. The trees here felt denser. Older. Less forgiving.

  Every step forward pressed heavier into the dirt.

  No one had spoken to me—not directly. I caught glances when they thought I wouldn’t notice. But I noticed everything now.

  The way Zia’s posture stayed loose but ready, like she expected something to lunge at us again.

  The way Jaxe lingered at the back, a little quieter than usual, one hand near the dagger at his hip even though we hadn’t seen another threat.

  And Caelen…

  Caelen was watching Apolloh. Not me. Like he was waiting for him to make a move.

  Apolloh’s pace slowed just enough to make it obvious.

  “We rest in half an hour,” he said over his shoulder—voice level, calm, commanding.

  I felt the ripple it sent through the group. The unspoken finally. The tired sighs. The tension that didn’t ease, just shifted. Because they weren’t relieved. They were bracing.

  They thought they were being subtle.

  But they weren’t.

  This wasn’t just about getting off our feet.

  They were waiting to pull me apart.

  And part of me almost laughed.

  Because what would they do if I really did?

  What if I unraveled right there on the moss and stone?

  Would they run?

  Or would they kneel?

  The hum in my chest twitched at the thought.

  Don’t.

  I pressed it down.

  Pressed it deep.

  Locked it in the same place I kept the fear.

  You’re Laika.

  You don’t bend.

  You don’t break.

  But the silence kept building.

  Apolloh moved beside me again, hand brushing against mine once, then slipping into his own pocket. Not affection. Just… presence.

  “Don’t let them shake you,” he said quietly.

  Too quietly.

  They didn’t hear him.

  But I did.

  I nodded once. “I’m not the one shaking.”

  He didn’t smile. Just kept walking.

  And I knew he understood.

  We were both lying.

  ~~~

  They made camp in a clearing veiled in low mist—stones half-buried, trees arching above like broken ribs. The warriors set up quickly, mechanically. Fires. Bedrolls. Perimeter.

  I sat.

  Not by the fire. Not alone.

  Somewhere in between.

  The sky was darkening.

  They would come soon.

  ——

  They didn’t announce themselves.

  One by one, they came.

  Boots soft on soil. Eyes sharp. Movements casual, too casual—like wolves pretending to be anything but.

  Zia sat across from me first. Not beside me. Across—like it mattered. Like she was drawing a line in the dirt without lifting a single finger.

  Then Jaxe. He stayed standing. Arms crossed, face unreadable.

  Caelen next. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. His presence alone shifted the air.

  The others lingered at the edge of the firelight. Watching. Pretending not to watch. Listening with their backs turned.

  Even Apolloh kept his distance now—close enough to hear. Far enough to let it happen.

  My heart beat once.

  Twice.

  Zia leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees. Voice quiet. Gentle, almost.

  “Want to tell us what the hell that was back there?”

  There it was.

  Venom. Wrapped in silk.

  I tilted my head. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

  Zia didn’t blink. “The thing that knelt before you like you were its goddess.”

  Jaxe sucked in a breath through his nose. Not a word. Just tension.

  Caelen finally spoke. “You didn’t flinch, Laika. Not even when it came close. You looked like…” He paused. “…you knew it.”

  They weren’t circling anymore.

  They were closing in.

  Zia’s eyes narrowed, hard and sharp. “You’ve been different since the storm. Since the dream. Since the stone.” She spat the last word like it left a taste behind.

  I said nothing.

  The silence stretched. Warped.

  “Say something,” Jaxe said, his voice low and shaking. “We deserve that much.”

  And goddess help me—

  I almost told them everything.

  About the dreams.

  The hum.

  The light.

  The void.

  The word Sahrathei.

  But I couldn’t.

  Because I didn’t understand it yet.

  And giving them pieces of something broken would only turn it to a weapon.

  So I lifted my chin. Met Zia’s gaze.

  “What do you want me to say?”

  That did it.

  Zia stood—fast, sharp, like she might actually move.

  “I want to know if the person I followed out here is still you, or something wearing your skin.”

  The air cracked between us.

  And still—no one interrupted.

  Because they all wanted to know.

  The fire cracked softly.

  I stood. Slowly. Calmly. Every movement measured.

  Zia’s eyes followed me. Jaxe tensed. Caelen didn’t move. Not yet.

  “You think something’s wearing my skin?” I asked, voice quiet. Controlled. “You think I’m not me?”

  I stepped forward once—just one.

  Zia didn’t back up.

  Good.

  “You think I asked for the dreams? The screaming? The pressure in my veins? The thing that knelt to me like it knew I’d forgotten something sacred?”

  My voice didn’t rise.

  But my presence did.

  It pressed out of me like a wave. Unseen but felt.

  I saw Jaxe flinch.

  I didn’t care.

  “I’ve carried every secret alone,” I whispered. “Because I had to. Because if I dropped even one, you’d look at me just like you are now. Like I’m some ticking bomb.”

  Zia’s jaw clenched.

  “And maybe I am,” I said.

  Silence.

  I could’ve left it there.

  I should’ve.

  But something snapped.

  And I let it.

  “Do you know what it felt like?” I hissed. “To stare into the eyes of something ancient and feel it belong to you?”

  I stepped forward again—closer than close.

  Zia’s breath hitched.

  “To feel that power humming under your skin like it’s been waiting for you to wake up?”

  One more step. Now chest to chest.

  “You want the truth?” I breathed.

  “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  And then—I smiled.

  Not warmth.

  Not sorrow.

  Something other.

  “And that should scare you a hell of a lot more than it does.”

  No one moved.

  Not even the fire dared to crack again.

  ——

  The words still lingered in the air—like smoke from a lightning strike.

  No one moved.

  No one breathed.

  The fire popped, soft and shy, as if afraid to interrupt.

  Zia stared at me.

  Mouth open.

  Eyes unreadable.

  Hands balled into fists at her sides—but not out of threat. Out of shock.

  Jaxe looked between us like he wanted to speak but couldn’t remember how to form sound.

  Caelen…

  Caelen looked down. Then up again.

  Like he’d just witnessed something sacred.

  Or dangerous enough to feel like it.

  And behind them all, Apolloh leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed. His face half-shadowed.

  A smirk.

  Barely there.

  But his eyes burned with something feral.

  Pride.

  No one dared speak first.

  Because no one knew what I had become.

  And worse—they didn’t know if they were supposed to fear it…

  or follow it.

  No one called the meeting off.

  No one declared it over.

  They just started to move—slowly, one by one. Like they were peeling themselves away from something heavy. Sticky.

  Jaxe was the first. He looked between us all, mouth parting like he might say something. But whatever it was, it withered in the air. He turned and walked off, jaw tight, head down.

  Caelen didn’t look at anyone. Just gave a small nod in my direction—respectful, maybe. Or wary. Then he slipped into the dark after Jaxe.

  The others followed in scattered silence. A few backward glances. A few furrowed brows. But no one spoke.

  They’d come expecting something.

  And left with more questions than they could carry.

  Which left only her.

  Zia.

  Still standing across from me.

  Still fuming.

  Still alone.

  Her eyes swept the space around her—once filled with allies, with backup, with momentum.

  Now just embers and smoke.

  She took a step back, slow and unwilling. Her stare locked to mine, fierce and unblinking.

  But the fight had left her shoulders.

  She didn’t retreat.

  She yielded.

  Silent.

  Then turned and walked away.

  Leaving only me and Apolloh in the fire’s hush.

  He pushed off the tree and came to stand beside me. Not quite touching.

  He didn’t speak for a long time.

  Then:

  “That was a hell of a thing.”

  I kept my eyes on the fire. “I didn’t plan it.”

  “I know.”

  A beat.

  “I liked it.”

  I almost smiled.

  Almost.

  But silence hung thick between us—not empty. Full. Of everything unspoken, everything pressing against the skin from inside.

  He reached for my hand. I let him take it.

  ——

  As we reached the edge of camp, where the shadows deepened and the fire’s crackle barely reached, I felt my shoulders sag, like a sudden release from something that had been suffocating me.

  I stopped. Just for a second. But I didn’t know if I could keep moving.

  Everything—the journey, the weight of what had happened, the pressure of keeping it all together—finally caught up with me. My chest tightened, my throat burning, and before I could catch it, the tears spilled over, too fast to stop. I let them fall, no longer trying to hold them back. They came in waves, overwhelming, unrelenting.

  I didn’t know how long I’d been holding it all inside—how long I’d been pretending I was fine. But in that moment, it all came crashing down. My body trembled, my knees buckled, and I couldn’t hold myself up anymore.

  I wanted to scream. I wanted to shout out everything—everything I’d been bottling up, the doubts, the fear, the confusion, the pain, the broken pieces that I didn’t know how to put together. But all I could do was cry. And I felt Apolloh step closer, felt him reach out to me before I even had the chance to pull away. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me into him with a tenderness I didn’t deserve but couldn’t resist.

  His embrace was an anchor, a lifeline that kept me from floating away into the storm inside my head. He didn’t say anything at first, just held me, letting me break, letting me fall apart in his arms without any judgment, without any expectation.

  I pressed my face into his chest, muffling my cries, and he shushed me softly. It wasn’t like before, when I’d been used to hearing words of reassurance. This time, it was different. It wasn’t shushing like I was a child—it was the softest, gentlest sound. Like a whisper to the universe that he was here. He was mine. And I didn’t have to face any of it alone.

  “Shh, Laika,” he whispered, the sound of his voice sending a tremor through me. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

  But even as he spoke, the tears didn’t stop. They came harder, more frantic. They were the kind of tears you couldn’t control—the kind that carried everything you were afraid to face. I gasped for breath between sobs, and the words spilled out of me like a broken dam, faster than I could catch them.

  “I don’t know what’s happening to me… I don’t know who I’m becoming… I don’t know if I’m strong enough, Apolloh. I don’t know if I can do this… If I’m good enough for any of this…”

  I was rambling now, anything and everything that had been buried deep inside came pouring out.

  “I can feel it… something inside of me. It’s wrong. It feels… wrong, Apolloh. It’s pulling me somewhere I can’t reach. I can’t… I can’t fix it, and I don’t know if I want to.” My voice trembled, catching on the weight of each word. I buried my face deeper into his shoulder, unable to look at him, unable to face the vulnerability that felt like it might swallow me whole.

  He said nothing at first. Just continued to hold me, smoothing my hair down in slow, soothing motions. The soft touch of his fingers on my scalp, his warm chest against my face, the steady rise and fall of his breath—it was the only thing grounding me to reality. He was my anchor.

  His words, when they came, were simple, but they meant everything. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now, Laika. You don’t have to fix anything. I’m here. I’m always going to be here.”

  I cried harder. I didn’t know how to explain to him the weight of the burden I was carrying. It felt like the whole world was pressing down on me, and yet here I was, crumpled in his arms, unable to stand under the strain.

  I could feel the exhaustion creeping up on me, pulling at my limbs like lead. The weight of my own body felt heavier, my mind foggier. Each sob seemed to drain me, like I was shedding something vital, and I wasn’t sure how much I could afford to lose.

  My crying slowed, my breaths became shallow, ragged. And then, with nothing left but the quiet tremors of my body, I finally started to lose the battle to stay awake. My eyelids fluttered, and I felt Apolloh’s arms tighten around me, as if he could feel the moment I was slipping into the stillness of sleep.

  The last thing I heard before I drifted off was his voice, soft, low. “Rest, Laika. You’re safe now. Let go.”

  I didn’t have the strength to respond.

  ?

  The next thing I knew, I was being gently lifted, cradled against his chest. The faintest whispers of cool night air brushed my skin, and the sound of soft footsteps carried me back toward the warmth of the fire. I felt the movement more than I heard it—his steady steps, the way he held me like I was precious, like I was fragile.

  He laid me down, carefully, so carefully, on the soft ground near the fire. The heat from the flames reached me just enough to offer comfort, but not enough to burn.

  I didn’t wake. I couldn’t. My body was too tired to do anything but rest, to surrender to the sleep that had finally claimed me.

  ?

  The next morning, I woke with a heavy heart—a weight that had settled deep in my chest, right where the fire still burned from the night before. It wasn’t the kind of warmth I usually associated with safety. It was the kind that reminded you of the things you couldn’t ignore, the things that refused to be buried.

  Everything that had happened—the storm of emotions, the embrace, the way he’d held me like I was something worth saving—it all rushed back in flashes. My chest tightened again. The weight of it felt unbearable, but in a different way now. It wasn’t a crushing weight anymore. It was… something else. Something tender, something aching, something I didn’t know how to carry yet.

  And when I blinked through the morning light and found him sitting close, watching over me, his presence was a silent reassurance that no matter how heavy everything felt, I wasn’t facing it alone. Not anymore.