TWENTY-SIX #3
“Protect me?” I shake my head. “Thane, I’m the Spiritborn. I’m standing at the center of a war that’s coming. There isn’t a version of this story where I walk away untouched.”
His expression falters.
“I’m being hunted, studied, propped up like some answer to a prophecy I didn’t ask for. There’s no shield big enough to protect me from what’s coming. So don’t lie there and pretend your shadows are the biggest threat I face.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to rein it in, but the words are already out—raw and honest. His expression falters, but he holds my gaze.
“But that’s out there,” he says, his voice low as he gestures beyond the windows. “I can’t control that. I can’t control what happens beyond these walls.”
And there it is. When the world spirals, Thane reaches for whatever he can still hold onto. Whatever he can still protect, especially the people he loves.
My voice softens, but it doesn’t lose its edge.
“I know you can’t control the world,” I say. “But I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to stop trying to protect me from you.”
He doesn’t answer, but I see the tension settle across his shoulders and recognize the fear he’s trying so hard not to show. Sometimes I think Thane carries the weight of the world for so long that he forgets not every burden belongs to him.
His eyes never leave mine.
“I’m asking you to stop trying to protect me from you,” I say again, to make sure he understands.
The silence settles between us like fresh snow, soft enough to look harmless and heavy enough to change the shape of everything. He holds my gaze as tension settles across his shoulders, and I recognize the fear he is trying so hard not to show.
We sit like that for several minutes, neither of us quite sure how to bridge the distance that has opened between us.
Finally, he exhales.
“Amara, that’s not—”
“It is.”
The interruption comes more gently than I intended.
“You keep talking about what your shadows might do, what your power might become, what could happen if you stop holding on so tightly.” I shake my head. “But none of that is what scared me.”
His brow furrows.
“What scared me was watching you pull away the moment you let yourself be vulnerable.”
The words hang between us.
“I saw you let go,” I continue quietly. “For the first time since I’ve known you, I saw you stop carrying everything by yourself. Then the moment it was over, you started reaching for all of it again.”
His jaw ticks. “I don’t know how not to.”
The confession lands with enough force to steal my breath. For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Then I reach for his hand.
“You don’t have to protect me from the war, Thane. You don’t have to protect me from the prophecy.” My fingers tighten around his. “And you don’t have to protect me from your shadows. I chose all of this.”
His gaze drops to our joined hands.
“You shouldn’t have had to.”
A sad smile pulls at my mouth.
“Maybe not. But I did.”
When he finally looks back at me, the fear is still there, along with the uncertainty. I could push. I could say more. Instead, I close my eyes and lower my shields in the quiet space between us. Not completely, but enough for him.
“You won’t hurt me,” I send through the bond. “You never will. I know it.”
Then I wait. Not for an answer, but for him to feel the truth of it.
A strong hand closes around mine, firm and sudden. My eyes snap open.
Thane’s eyes lock onto mine, burning with an intensity that steals my breath.
His lips press into a thin line, and his jaw works.
He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to because I can see it all unfolding behind his eyes—the calculations, the contingencies, the endless search for every possible way this could go wrong and every possible way he might stop it.
Just like a strategist. Just like a Warlord.
For all his strength, this is what he does when he’s afraid. He plans. He prepares. He tries to stay one step ahead of disaster.
So I do the only thing I can. I push another thought through the bond, firm, quiet, and unwavering.
“I trust you.”
There is no panic in the thought. No resentment. Only the truth.
“Even if you think you could hurt me, you can’t.”
Because even at his worst, even cloaked in shadow, he is still Thane. The man I trust. The man I love.
I watch him, barely breathing, before pulling my shields back into place. For the first time, I wish I could hear his thoughts the way he hears mine. I wish I knew what was happening behind those smoke-gray eyes.
Then I see it. A flicker. The gold flecks in his gaze spark to life, flames burning through smoke.
Then he moves.
Without a word, he reaches for me and pulls me against him, wrapping me in his arms and tucking me beneath his chin.
He draws in a slow breath, as though he has been holding it for hours, then releases it through his nose in a controlled exhale.
The warmth of it brushes the top of my head.
I stay still in his embrace, waiting and hoping.
Then, softly, almost as though he is still trying to convince himself:
“Okay . . . okay. Let’s take it day by day.”