16. Selis
Selis
She gave it to me.
No fight. No spit. No clever little jab about freedom.
Just… offered me her wrists like it meant nothing. Like it wasn’t the first thing I took from her.
The cuffs are back on now. Not tight. Just there. Loose enough not to bruise. Tight enough to remind us both what we are.
A formality, if anything.
We made it back to the hollow clearing with an hour or two before we need to start moving again. The cold’s already settling back into the bones of the world, and the sky’s just starting to bruise with the promise of another long stretch of dark.
I didn’t bother chaining her to the tree again. The knot’s broken. The lock’s bent. And after what happened… After the way she looked at me, the way she reached for me, the way she said my name—
I don’t think she’ll run again.
She’s wrapped in the blanket, curled small on the far side of the camp, hands tucked to her chest. The glow’s faint again. Low and steady beneath her skin like an ember trying not to catch. She’s watching the trees. Or maybe just pretending not to watch me.
And me ?
I’m pretending to sleep.
Lying still. Breathing slow. Staring at her through half-lidded eyes like a fucking coward.
I should feel smug.
She ran. I caught her. She’s cuffed again. Should’ve been the end of it. Should’ve felt like victory.
But it doesn’t. Not even close.
Because when she gave me her wrists—it didn’t feel like surrender. It felt like trust.
And I don’t know what to do with that.
My hands are built for blood. For knives, coin. Not for gentleness. Not for wrists offered willingly. Not trembling faith wrapped in a girl who still thinks the stars give a damn.
Why didn’t she fight me?
Because of the dream. That’s what she said.
She saw me die. She thinks I’ll die for her. She thinks her goddess sent me.
I’ve seen it in her eyes—what I look like to her. Not the monster. Not the chain. Something else. Something dangerous in a different way.
Like I’m already kneeling.
I shift under the cloak and turn away, jaw clenched. The quiet stretches. Thin and aching.
“I didn’t come back for you,” I say quietly, not looking. “I came back to finish the job.”
Silence.
Then her voice, soft and maddeningly certain:
“But you still came.”
My throat tightens. Sharp. Immediate. I grit my teeth.
Damn her.
I close my eyes and lie still. Try to slow my breathing. Try not to think of the way her wrists felt in my hands—warm, willing.
She’s not free.
She’s still mine.
And yet somehow, somehow…
I’m the one unraveling.
***
I feel her eyes before I open mine.
Quiet. Focused. Too full of thought for this early in the damned night. Another stretch of dark ahead of us. More walking. More frostbitten silence.
Naera's sitting with her knees drawn up, arms looped around them, the blanket slipping off one shoulder. She hasn’t stopped glowing—she never stops glowing.
That low, steady pulse of silver still clings to her like it doesn’t know how to leave.
At her throat. The bend of her wrist. Like moonlight trying to breathe through skin.
She’s watching me like I’m a puzzle she’s almost solved.
I hate it.
“You always stare this much,” I murmur, voice rough with sleep, “or am I just lucky?”
She doesn’t blink.
“You’re different when you sleep.”
I sit up slow, stretching until my spine cracks.
“Yeah. Less dangerous.”
“No,” she says softly. “Less lonely.”
Something twists behind my ribs. Sharp and immediate. I don’t look at her when I adjust my cloak.
“You’re a fool, little star." I'm met with silence, so I keep talking. “You believe in your moon goddess so much you’ll let yourself be leashed. You think pain means purpose. You think if you’re obedient enough, something divine’ll come down and save you.”
Her eyes find mine again.
“You think I’m wrong?”
I hold her gaze. Longer than I mean to.
“I think you’re pathetic,” I say.
But it doesn’t come out like it should. Doesn’t land like a knife.It just… hangs there. Half-formed. Half-true. Like I’m trying to convince myself of it as much as her.
It should end the conversation, but it doesn’t.
She lifts her chin, calm and steady, and says, “I knew your name before I ever met you. I know you. How do you explain that?”
I laugh.
“Just because you’ve got a touch of Sight and a pretty glow doesn’t mean a damn thing. Magic leaks out of the cracks in this world like blood from a corpse. You can thank blood oaths, curses, and broken pacts for that.”
I stand, grabbing my pack.
“But gods? If they existed once, they’re dead now. You think your dreams and glow comes from some moon-soaked goddess who listens when you whimper into the trees?” I shake my head.“Your powers are leftovers. That’s all. Pretty rot.”
Naera doesn’t blink.
“No,” she says, quiet. “This is about the boy.”
The words thread through the trees like smoke. My spine goes rigid.
“Your brother. ”
I turn. Slowly.
“You feel like the gods don’t care about you because he died. You feel like if they’re real then they let him burn. Lior—”
I move before she finishes.
Two strides.
My hand slams over her mouth, pinning her back against the nearest tree.
Her eyes don’t go wide. Don’t flinch. Don’t even look surprised. The look in her eyes isn’t fear at all… It’s worse.
It’s pity.
"You don’t know anything about him," I say, voice low and venomous. "And you don’t speak his name."
She doesn’t nod. Doesn’t fight. Just stares up at me like she sees everything anyway. Like she already knew how much it would hurt.
The heat surges behind my ribs again—something sharp and ugly, something I thought I buried with the ash and bone.
I let go.
Step back too fast.
My pulse is too loud. My throat burns.
She doesn’t say another word. Just pulls the blanket tighter, settling like I didn’t just shove her. Like she didn’t just crack open a grave she had no right to touch.
But her eyes—they still burn. Pity and judgment, tangled together like vines around my throat.
“Get up,” I say, voice flat. “We’re leaving.”
I don’t wait for a reply. I turn my back and start walking, boots biting into frost-bitten ground.Because if I look at her one second longer—
I’ll break something.
And the worst part is: I don’t want it to be her.
Even if she is a fool. Even if she believes in things I know are dead.
I don’t want to hurt her.
Not anymore.