The morning came quiet.
Birds chirped somewhere far away, and the cool forest air brushed against Saphira's skin like a whisper. She blinked her eyes open slowly, sunlight filtering through the leaves above. Her body ached—not from the harshness of the forest floor, but from everything that had built inside her over the past few days.
Despite all the darkness creeping in, there was a warmth beside her—Killian.
She wasn't sure why it still surprised her that he had stayed. He was a killer. A weapon forged in blood. But in this moment, with his arm curled near her waist, the peace that surrounded them almost felt... normal. Too normal. As if the world hadn't just flipped upside down. As if they weren't both bound by a twisted fate they couldn't escape.
Killian was still there—lying on his side, facing her. His breathing was soft, steady. One arm lay near her waist, his fingers barely grazing her skin. He looked... almost peaceful. But she knew better than to mistake the calm for safety.
Saphira stared at him, studying the way his jaw shifted in his sleep, the soft rise and fall of his chest. The way his hair fell messily across his brow. His face, unarmored, was far from the fierce warrior she had learned to fear. In his sleep, he looked vulnerable. Human.
She should've pulled away, should've retreated from the tenderness his presence threatened to unravel inside her. But her body stayed still, unwilling to move away. She couldn't deny the pull.
"Killian..." Her voice came out quieter than she intended, a whisper between them.
No response.
"Killian," she said again, a little louder, nudging his arm.
He groaned lowly, shifting in place, his voice thick with sleep. "Is something wrong?"
Saphira hesitated. She was drowning in a sea of unspoken questions. She shouldn't ask him this. She shouldn't even be here, feeling the heat of his skin beside her. She needed to focus. But the question had been gnawing at her, and now, it felt like it was her only way out of the suffocating uncertainty.
She sat up slowly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face as she whispered, "If I don't kill you… will I get the same scar?"
Killian blinked a few times, slowly coming awake. His eyes didn't meet hers right away, his gaze darting to the ground instead. "The scar?"
Saphira nodded, her throat tight. "The burned one. The one on your chest. You got it for not following the rules, right?"
There was a moment of hesitation before Killian sat up beside her. His eyes were distant, as though reliving a memory he hadn't asked for. "I already told you about the mark," he said quietly, his voice rougher now, like the subject was something he didn't want to revisit.
Saphira's fingers brushed over the mark on her wrist—a constant reminder of what was at stake. "I know. But what if I don't follow the rule? Will I get it too? Will I burn like you did?"
Her words hung in the air, thick and heavy.
Killian's expression flickered for just a second, a shadow crossing his face. But he said nothing. His hand reached out, almost instinctively, as though to pull her back into the safety of silence. But Saphira wasn't ready to be quiet.
"I don't know," he finally said, his voice tight. "I think you will. If they think you're refusing the command, then yes. The mark will come."
Saphira's pulse quickened. She'd already made her decision. She wouldn't kill him. But the price of her decision was more than just a death sentence for them both—it was a mark that could burn her alive.
Her fingers lingered on her chest, just above her heart. No burn. No pain. Yet. But she knew what it meant. If she didn't kill him, she would be branded. Just like Killian. The thought twisted something dark in her.
"I don't feel anything," she whispered, barely able to speak above the tension that gripped her throat. "Not yet."
Killian's eyes softened, but there was an edge to them—a warning. "It waits. I didn't feel it right away either. When I refused, it took a few days. But it came."
The silence stretched between them. The world outside the forest seemed miles away, but the suffocating reality of their situation was right here, within reach.
Saphira's fingers drifted, almost against her will, towards the scar on his chest. She hadn't forgotten the twisted shape, the deep burn that marred his skin. The thought of it made her skin crawl. Yet, the strange pull she felt towards him kept her hand hovering near the scar, as if touching it would somehow explain everything that lay between them.
"Does it still hurt?" she asked quietly, her voice breaking the fragile tension that had settled.
"Some nights," Killian muttered, his eyes darkening. "But not always. It only hurts when I dream of the moment I got it. When I remember why I got it."
Saphira's breath caught in her throat as the weight of his words pressed down on her. He hadn't just disobeyed. He had fought, had survived, but it had cost him.
"And if I get it… if I get that mark too… will you stay with me?"
The words escaped her in a low, almost strangled whisper. There was no hope in them, no desperation. It was more a demand than a plea. Saphira couldn't allow herself to feel weak—not when everything around her threatened to tear her apart.
Killian's silence stretched long. His eyes, dark and unreadable, met hers for a moment, and in that fleeting instant, Saphira saw something—something hard, something resigned. But then, just as quickly, it was gone. He didn't answer immediately, as if weighing her words carefully.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was rough, devoid of warmth. "I'll stay," he said, the words heavy with a promise that didn't sound like a guarantee but more like a sentence. "Even if you get marked. Even if it burns you too."
Saphira didn't flinch, didn't allow herself to react. The truth was, she didn't trust him—not fully. Not even now. His words were nothing but an echo of what he was trained to say. But the weight of them still pressed against her chest, and she hated that.
She narrowed her eyes, searching his face for any sign of softness. But there was nothing there. "You'll stay," she repeated, her voice flat, "even if I become like you."
The air between them thickened. Killian didn't break his gaze. The words hung in the silence, twisting into something far more sinister than either of them was willing to acknowledge.
"Not for you," he said, his voice hard now, like a dagger being sheathed. "I stay because I'm bound to the same fate. And because if you burn, I burn too."
Saphira clenched her jaw, swallowing the bitter taste of his words. She hadn't expected the cruel truth of it to sting as much as it did.
"You think you can control what happens to me?" she muttered, her tone sharp, her eyes flashing. "You think you can tie your fate to mine and that will make this any easier?"
Killian's grip on her hand tightened, the pressure more forceful now, like a chain being forged between them. "I don't want it to be easy," he growled low, almost a snarl. "I just won't let you die alone."
Saphira jerked her hand away from his grasp, her eyes narrowed, defiant. The words, however dark, only added to the suffocating knot of uncertainty in her chest. She didn't need his pity. And she definitely didn't need to be tied to him by something as fragile as his twisted sense of duty.
"I don't need you to stay. I don't need anyone," she hissed, her voice cold. "But don't think for a second that your scar means anything to me."
The silence between them grew colder, the tension mounting like a storm waiting to break. Killian didn't flinch at her words. He only stared at her with the same dead intensity that had been there from the start.
"Then why the hell are you still here?" she spat, her voice raw, the anger rising to meet the fear she wouldn't allow to show.
He didn't answer. Instead, his gaze dropped to her wrist, the mark still faintly visible against her skin. Saphira felt the weight of his stare, but she didn't care. Not anymore. Let him look. Let him see the price she'd pay.
"I'm here," Killian said after a long, tense pause, "because it doesn't matter whether you want me here or not. You and I are bound by something worse than fate."
His words cut deeper than anything else could have. They weren't a promise. They were a curse. And she hated him for it. But even more, she hated herself for not being able to walk away from it.
"I'm not your fucking charity case," she snapped, standing up and backing away from him. "So don't think for one second that I'll owe you anything."
Saphira turned her back to him, trying to shake the sensation of his words lingering like poison in her veins. This was what they were, both of them—poison. No matter what happened, they would burn each other, one way or another. The truth was, she wasn't sure if that was something to fear or something to embrace.
Killian stayed silent behind her. He didn't move, didn't try to stop her. He didn't need to. There was nothing left to say.
But Saphira knew one thing for sure now.
No one would save her. Not even him.