15. Aria
Aria
I spent longer than necessary washing up, letting the crisp morning air settle my thoughts.
The cold had numbed my fingers, cleared my mind, but the moment I spot Roan crouched by the remains of the fire, the tension tightens its hold on me again.
She looks up as I step into the clearing, eyes sharp even in the low light. A rabbit dangles from her grip, freshly caught. The coppery scent of blood lingers in the air.
“Figured you’d be hungry,” she says, her voice unreadable.
I stop in my tracks. “You—” I swallow, my throat tight. She caught it for me .
She just waits, her grip firm around the rabbit’s hind legs. A small offering, wordless but weighty.
I step closer, hesitating before reaching out. Our fingers brush for a brief moment as she hands it to me. The warmth of her skin lingers longer than it should.
“…Thank you.” I lower my gaze, cradling the rabbit carefully. The heat in my face isn’t from the rising sun.
Roan nods, then steps back, busying herself with kicking dirt over the last of the embers.
I exhale, tension easing just a little. It’s easier this way—actions instead of words, survival instead of whatever unspoken thing lingers between us.
Still, I can’t ignore the way she keeps glancing at me, her expression unreadable. And I can’t ignore the strange relief in my chest, knowing she thought of me while I was gone.
We sit in silence as I feed. Roan leans back against her pack, arms crossed, eyes flicking occasionally toward the trees, as if the woods might spit Selis back out.
Selis. I squeeze my eyes shut at the memory of her knowing smirk, the way her gaze had lingered on Roan—like they shared a language I couldn’t hope to understand.
I remember the tightness in Roan’s voice last night, the sharp edge of anger when she demanded to know why I’d talked to Selis at all.
She’s not safe. People like her… they don’t care about anyone but themselves.
I’d never heard Roan sound so... unsettled.
Finally, I shift, setting aside what remains of the rabbit. The weight in my stomach isn’t just from the meal.
“I didn’t like her,” I blurt out.
Roan stills.
“Selis,” I clarify. “I didn’t like her.”
A pause. Then Roan turns her head, watching me carefully. “Yeah?”
I nod, staring at the ground, fiddling with a blade of grass. “She was... loud. And cocky.”
Roan huffs a quiet laugh and looks away, but I catch the faint upward curve of her lips.
“She’s always been like that,” she says. “Annoying as hell.”
“And she kept... looking at you.”
Roan stiffens. She doesn’t say anything.
I drop my gaze to my hands. “She acted like she... knew you. Like she had a claim.”
“She doesn’t,” Roan says too quickly.
Silence swells again. My chest tightens as questions I don’t want to ask gather in my throat.
What was she to you? Did you ever talk with her the way you talk with me? Did she ever sit beside you like this, the air crackling with things unsaid?
I swallow hard and force my voice to stay even. “So... who was she?”
Roan doesn’t answer right away. She scrubs a hand over her jaw like she’s wiping something away. “Someone I worked with. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” I ask, softer this time.
I shouldn’t press. We don’t press. But the question slips out before I can stop it. I need to know. I don’t know why, only that I do.
Roan hesitates. Her jaw ticks. “Mostly.”
The word sinks like a stone in my chest.
Mostly.
I nod like it doesn’t mean anything. Like the air between us doesn’t feel thinner now. Like the answer didn’t crack something small and stupid in me.
Roan leans forward, elbows on her knees. “Selis is a parasite,” she says softly. “She finds people, uses them until they’re no good to her anymore, and moves on.”
“And you?” I ask quietly.
Her lips press into a thin line. “I was no exception.”
There’s something hollow in her voice, a bitterness that feels old and worn. Her hand shifts toward her sword hilt, thumb moving absently over the worn leather, as if grounding herself in the weight of it.
I sit still for a moment, pulse quickening, then I shift closer before I can talk myself out of it. Close enough that our shoulders almost touch.
“Whatever Selis did to you,” I murmur, “you didn’t deserve it.”
Roan turns slightly, glancing at me. Her expression flickers, unreadable. “How would you know?”
I hesitate. My heart feels too loud in my chest. “Because I saw how she looked at you,” I say. “Like she wanted to remind you you belonged to her. And I saw the way you looked back… like you were trying not to flinch.”
I swallow, the words thick and unfamiliar in my mouth, but I say them anyway. “You don’t deserve that. Not from her. Not from anyone.”
Roan doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But I can feel the shift in her—like the silence has settled deeper, heavier.
I press on, quieter now. “You helped me. Saved me. Even when you didn’t have to. And maybe you don’t think it matters, but it does. It matters to me.”
Her breath hitches, just slightly.
“You only deserve good things, Roan,” I whisper. “And she isn’t one of them.”
Her jaw tightens, like she’s fighting some response she won’t let out. She still won’t meet my eyes, but her hand has stilled on her sword hilt.
My chest tightens.
“I know I can’t fix any of that. I can’t undo what she did to you, but I wish I could.” I glance down at my hands, fists curled in my lap. “And I wish I could redo last night…"
Roan shifts beside me, her voice low. “Yeah?” Her tone is casual, but she finally looks at me. “What would you have done?”
I lift my head slowly, meeting her gaze. “I would’ve told her off.”
The answer comes out before I can really think it through, but it’s true—undeniably, viscerally true. Selis stirred something hot and raw beneath my skin. Something I can’t name yet.
“I would’ve told her exactly what I thought of her,” I add, heat rising to my cheeks, but not from shame. “That she doesn’t get to look at you like you’re something she owns. That she doesn’t get to talk to me like I’m some fragile thing she can twist around for fun.”
There’s a beat of stunned silence. Then Roan huffs a laugh, a real one—warm, surprised. She shakes her head, the smirk curling at the edge of her mouth softening into something more fond than mocking.
“I’d have liked to see that,” she murmurs. “My little mouse, all fierce and ready to bite."
My little mouse .
Hers.
The words and the warmth in her voice makes my stomach flutter in a way I’m not prepared for.
I look between her dark brown gaze, only to find her eyes dip lower than mine, to my lips.
The moment lingers, the tension stretching between us like a thread about to snap. But then Roan clears her throat and stands, stretching her arms above her head. “I’ll check the perimeter again. Make sure we’re still alone.”
I watch her walk away, my chest still too tight with things I don’t know how to name.