CHAPTER TEN THE ABANDONED NEST
SHAARR
Rowan slept facing the door with a knife in his hand.
He did not hold it like a scientist. He held it like someone who had learned that waking late could kill people.
I watched from the other side of the nest. Our proximity reduced the receptor pain enough that I could think. I disliked the implication.
The old structure had once belonged to a western family. Carvings still covered the inner root wall. Bond marks. Birth lines.
Deaths. Hunts. A life completed long ago. Rowan woke instantly.
Knife raised. His eyes found me. The blade lowered.
"How long?"
"Three hours."
"You watched me sleep."
"Yes."
"Still disturbing."
"You kept a weapon."
"Exactly."
He sat up. Pain crossed his face. Hip. He tried to hide it.
Poorly.
"Show me."
"No."
I looked at him. His mouth tilted.
"How does it feel?"
I understood. Unpleasant human.
"Your rules were not intended as punishment."
"No. This is educational."
"You are very irritating."
"Medically relevant."
He stood and retrieved the scanner. Then came toward me.
"My turn."
"I am functional."
"I watched you fall into a ravine."
"I recovered."
"You were unconscious."
"Briefly."
"Sit."
I did. Not because he ordered. Because arguing had become predictable. Rowan examined the injured leg first. No fracture.
Then my head. Then the scar. His hand slowed before reaching it. The same hesitation as before. Not fear of pain.
Recognition. I caught his gaze.
"You know that injury."
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
"Wrong."
His shoulders tightened.
"You have seen this burn pattern."
"Yes."
"Where?"
Silence. My claws pressed into the platform.
"Rowan."
He set down the scanner. His face had lost all humor.
"Preybridge."
The nest seemed to contract around us.
"Explain."
"I saw a Hunt-Born through a targeting display."
My damaged eye began to ache.
"Your weapon."
"My armor controlled my right side."
"I know."
"The weapon fired."
"At me."
"I don't know."
"You believe it."
His mouth tightened.
"Yes."
There. The wound was not the old weapon. Not yet. This was something newer.
"You knew before we left."
"I suspected."
"Strongly enough that your pulse changed every time you looked at the scar."
He said nothing.
"Why not tell me?"
"I didn't have proof."
"That is not the reason."
His face hardened.
"Don't tell me why I did something."
"Then tell me."
He stood. Anger suited him better than shame.
"I thought you'd refuse the expedition."
The truth landed cleanly. I rose too. Pain protested. Ignored.
"And you decided that outcome was unacceptable."
"People were in danger."
"So you chose what I was allowed to know."
His eyes dropped. Only for a second.
"Yes."
The answer made it worse. Also better. No excuse. No denial.
"I was controlled," he said.
"I know."
"I did not choose to fire."
"I know."
"Then why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because the weapon was not your choice."
He waited.
"The silence was."
Rowan went very still. There. That was the actual injury. He understood.
The receptor surged between us. Wrong timing. Wrong body. I stepped away.
Rowan noticed.
"No."
"What?"
"Don't let receptor pain turn this into comfort."
Anger flashed through me.
"I was not going to."
"Good."
"Stop saying good."
He almost laughed. Didn't. Outside, something moved beneath the roots. Both of us turned.
The vibration traveled past the nest. One Rootmaw. Maybe two. Too close for immediate departure. Rowan sat again, farther from me this time. The distance hurt.
I allowed it. His gaze wandered to the wall carvings.
"What does that symbol mean?"
He pointed to two lines crossing and continuing side by side.
"Bonded pair."
"Did they stay together?"
"Until death."
His face changed. I regretted answering. He looked toward me.
"Do you still think your receptor is damaged?"
"Possibly."
"Because of the old neural injury."
"Yes."
"And because you've already had one compatibility activation."
"Yes."
"And because I'm human."
"Yes."
He absorbed that without visible offense. Then:
"And because you don't want another one."
The answer lodged somewhere deeper.
"Yes."
Rowan nodded.
"Then don't choose it."
So simple. No pleading. No attempt to become exceptional enough to change my mind. The predator hated his acceptance. The guardian respected it.
The part of me underneath both wanted to cross the nest. I stayed where I was. Outside, the roots shifted again. Inside, six body lengths remained between us. For the first time, the distance felt more intimate than touch.