The forest stretched out before us like a living thing—dense, shadowed, and whispering with secrets only the wind could understand. It had been hours since we left the ruins behind, our bodies heavy from exhaustion and the weight of what we had uncovered. Every step away felt like peeling skin from bone—leaving something behind, yet carrying it all the same.
Killian hadn't said much since we left the ruins. His silence wasn't unusual, but this time it felt different. He walked like he was made of stone, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark and unreadable. I knew the truth we'd uncovered had shaken him. It had shaken me, too. The mark wasn't fate. It wasn't divine punishment. It was a design. A curse with a purpose—a tool of control.
We finally found a small clearing nestled between twisted roots and thick underbrush, cloaked in layers of green and gold. The sunlight barely touched the ground here, filtered through a canopy of ancient leaves. It was the best we could find for rest.
"This'll do," Killian muttered, sliding his pack off and dropping to the ground withpack off and dropping to the ground with a groan. He leaned back against a moss-covered tree trunk, his head tilting slightly toward the sky. "Let's rest a while."
I didn't argue. My legs were trembling with fatigue, and the chill from the ruins hadn't left my bones. I settled near him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his body, but far enough not to intrude. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Birds chirped overhead, their voices distant. The forest felt... untouched. A place the Council's lies hadn't yet poisoned.
Killian sighed softly and closed his eyes. He looked peaceful in a way he rarely did—his brows relaxed, lips parted just slightly, the sharp angles of his face softened by the shadows cast from the canopy. His shirt clung loosely to his chest, slightly unbuttoned from our hike through the heat earlier. But it wasn't just the wear of travel that drew my attention.
It was the scar.
The same scar he told me about in the ruins. The one tied to dreams and pain and secrets I still didn't fully understand. I had seen it before, but only in fleeting moments. Quick glances. Accidental brushes. But now, here he was, shirt wrinkled and damp with sweat, the top buttons undone—just enough to see the start of it.
And I couldn't help it.
I leaned forward just a bit, slowly and carefully. My fingers hovered over the cloth, my heartbeat pounding in my ears louder than the forest itself. I told myself it was curiosity—just a little peek, that's all. Just to see it again. To try to understand.
He was asleep. Or... at least I thought he was.
My fingers moved to the buttons, slipping one open. Then another. The fabric parted slightly, revealing the familiar jagged line that curved down from his collarbone. It looked cruel. Like fire had kissed his skin and refused to let go. But there was something beautiful about it too—something haunting. This mark told a story, one I wanted to understand more than anything.
I didn't realize I was holding my breath.
"You know," Killian's voice came, low and amused, "If you wanted to see it again, you could've just asked."
I jerked back so fast I nearly fell over.
His eyes were half-lidded, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He hadn't even opened them fully, just enough to see me—and the chaos in my expression.
"You—You weren't asleep?" I stammered, feeling the heat rush to my cheeks like wildfire.
"You—you—!"
"I was resting," he said calmly, arms now crossed behind his head like he hadn't just caught me committing the ultimate act of secretive curiosity. "But someone's little fingers were sneaking around my shirt buttons, and I got curious."
I spluttered, my brain short-circuiting. "I—I wasn't—! I was just—!"
"Investigating?" he teased, finally opening his eyes. They sparkled with mischief. "You know, I've been marked for years. That scar isn't going anywhere."
"I know that!" I snapped, turning away, trying to hide the fact that my face had turned into a volcano of embarrassment. "I just... I wasn't trying to... It's not like that!"
Killian chuckled, and the sound of it was unfairly attractive. "You're cute when you panic."
"Killian!" I groaned, burying my face in my hands.
"I mean it," he said, his voice softer now. "I think it's cute you wanted to see it again. No one's ever looked at it like you do. Not with... curiosity. Or care. Usually people look at it with pity. Or fear."
I lowered my hands slightly, daring to peek at him. "I don't pity you. And I'm not afraid of it. Of you."
"I know," he said, and his voice lost all its teasing. It was just quiet. Sincere. "That's what makes you different."
The silence stretched between us again, this time less awkward, more... fragile. I looked down at the ground, running my fingers through the moss, unsure what to say. I didn't mean to cross a boundary. But I had wanted to see it again—not just out of curiosity, but because it felt like a part of him. A part of the truth he carried and rarely shared.
He sat up slowly, brushing the moss from his back. I heard him move closer before he settled beside me.
"You want to see it properly?" he asked, voice low.
I blinked, surprised. "You'd let me?"
He nodded, unbuttoning his shirt fully now. "Might as well. You've already seen most of it."
With trembling fingers, I reached out and touched the scar. It was rough beneath my fingertips, the skin there firmer, textured. It ran from just under his collarbone down his chest. A brutal reminder. A permanent one.
"I'm sorry I tried to sneak a peek," I said after a while, smiling sheepishly.
He chuckled again, eyes crinkling with that infuriatingly perfect smile. "Don't be. Just know that next time, I might ask for a little... trade."
"A trade?" I raised a brow. "What kind of trade?"
He shrugged, casual as ever. "Maybe in your bed for a night, Or a kiss."
I didn't flinch. Instead, my hand went to my belt, and before he could blink, the cold edge of my dagger was pressed lightly against the side of his neck.
His eyes widened—but not in fear. In delight.
I leaned in slightly, voice low and dangerous.
"You're asking to be stabbed."
"Am I?" he said, clearly enjoying this more than any sane person should.
"Try saying that again," I said quietly, voice low, dangerous, and just a bit hoarse from exhaustion. "And I'll slit your throat. Gently."
Killian's lips parted—either to laugh or to talk me down—but I didn't give him the chance. I held the dagger there for another breath... then pulled it away with a sigh.
''You're lucky I'm too exhausted to bury you under this damn forest."
"Noted," he said with a smirk. "But if you ever do bury me, at least make it somewhere with a good view."
"Shut up," I muttered.
Killian laughed. Not the mocking kind. The genuinely amused, utterly entertained kind. "You know, Saphira... you threatening to murder me might be the most romantic thing anyone's done in years."
"Glad to know I'm making your heart race," I said dryly, settling back beside him like nothing had happened.
He looked at me with that same spark in his eyes—the one that said you fascinate me—and leaned in just a little closer. The space between us crackled like fire licking the edge of parchment.
"Then next time," he murmured, his voice smooth as sin, "don't be so sneaky about it."
I snorted. "Next time, try sleeping with one eye open."
Still, I hovered for a second, glaring at the patch of space between us like it personally offended me. My body ached, exhaustion bleeding into every bone, but asking? No. I wasn't about to ask him if I could rest on his shoulder like some helpless princess.
So instead, I pulled out my dagger again, this time resting the cold, flat edge right over his heart.
Killian blinked down at it, then up at me. "Another threat already? You must really like me."
"Shut up," I muttered. "I'm tired. And if you move an inch or make this weird, I swear I'll cut you."
He held both hands up like I was a wild animal he didn't want to startle, though the grin on his face said otherwise. "Wouldn't dream of it."
Satisfied, I sheathed the blade and finally—finally—let my head drop onto his shoulder with a sigh. His body was warm, steady, and annoyingly comfortable.
"Say one word about this," I mumbled, already slipping into that hazy place between awareness and sleep, "and I'll slice off something valuable."
Killian's voice was low, teasing, right by my ear. "Wouldn't dare, assassin."
The scar beneath his shirt no longer felt like a mystery or a symbol of distance. It was a part of him now—a part I had seen, touched, understood. And somehow, threatening him into letting me sleep on him felt like the most us way possible to bridge that gap.
"I still want to know everything," I said quietly. "Everything they did."
Killian's voice was steady, firm. "We will. Together."
And as we sat there, wrapped in shadows and scars and the wild thrum of the forest, I didn't feel weak or scared or lost. I felt ready.
Because I wasn't fighting alone anymore.