Twenty One #4
Part of me wants to take the chance to run. But I won’t. I go to him carefully, slowly, and kneel beside him. “You said you were a monster,” I whisper. “Is that because of him? Your father?”
He flinches. “Did Nyxen tell you?”
“Just pieces,” I admit. “But you don’t have to tell me anything.”
He looks at me, and his eyes are wet. “Do you really want to know?” he asks.
If it helps me find him, then yes.
I nod.
He breathes out through his nose, a sound like giving up. “It’s not the violence that ruins you,” he says. “It’s the isolation.”
He stares at the wall, unable to meet my eyes. “Weeks and weeks in a cage, with nothing but their poison.” He swallows hard. “All it taught me was that I’m alone. You’ve seen what it did to me.”
I reach out and rest my hand lightly on his knee. “You’re not alone now.”
He shakes his head, and a bitter laugh slips out. “You don’t get it. I can’t turn it off. Something is broken—”
His voice breaks.
I put my hand over his. “You’re not broken,” I say.
For a moment, I think he’ll pull away. But he doesn’t. He lets me touch him, lets my hand rest on his. His skin is cold, but it warms beneath mine.
He looks at me. “What if I hurt you? Out there?”
I squeeze his fingers. “You’ve never tried to hurt me, not even once.”
He lets out a long, ragged breath, and some of the tension eases from his shoulders. I don’t know if I’m helping or just bandaging a wound that needs stitches.
His voice is quiet. “Could you ever trust someone like me?”
I look him in the eyes. “Someone like you?” I repeat, my pulse quickening. “I—I think so.”
I don’t know what to do with my hands. They’re clammy now, awkward in his, so I draw them back.
He’s silent for a long time, his fingers flexing as if trying to remember the feel of my touch. Then he stands, pulling me with him. He wraps his arms around me, burying his face in the side of my neck. He holds me like he has forgotten how to stand without me. I hold him just as tight.
I don’t know how long we stand like that, but when he pulls away, his eyes are clear. “Thank you,” he says.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
We sit on his bed, stiff and made with precision. He sits against the headboard; I curl up at the foot, drawing my knees to my chest.
There is a long, safe silence. Then the air shifts.
A pressure builds in my chest—a burning, a buzzing, familiar in a way I don’t understand. I open my palm, and my Mana is already there, an orb of light hovering above my skin. It quivers, then splits into smaller orbs, chasing one another in a frenzy.
Kael watches, his eyes wide.
The lights whirl towards him. He tenses, expecting pain, but when they touch his skin, they don’t burn.
Instead, they sink into him—disappearing beneath the surface, making his tattoos flare gold where they pass.
The glow moves through his veins, outlining bones, nerves, scars.
It isn’t hurting him. It’s... searching for something. Or recognising it.
Mana shouldn’t behave this way, independently of me.
Kael watches his arms, his hands. The light fades, but for a second, he’s lit up from within.
He looks at me. “What did you do?”
I shake my head. “I didn't do anything. It just... happened.”
He stares at me, mouth open. “That’s not normal. And I’ve seen you do a lot of ‘not normal’ things.”
I laugh, the sound strange in my own ears. “I don’t think either of us is normal.”
He closes his hand around mine. “Don’t tell anyone about this.”
“Who would I tell?”
He huffs, then brings my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckle. The devotion in it feels out of place. “You’re dangerous,” he says. But this time, there’s awe in it too.
“I don’t feel dangerous. I feel—” I stop, unsure what it is I feel.
He closes the distance between us. His lips find mine, hesitant at first, then hungrier, almost desperate.
I kiss back, relishing the heat of him, the quiet break in all the fear.
Our tongues meet, and my hands fist his hair, his shirt, anything I can grab.
There is nothing careful about it. We kiss like frightened things.
I want to crawl inside his skin and anchor myself to him.
He groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through my bones. “I want you,” he says, as if he’s surprised by it.
Our mouths linger against each other, our breaths ragged with want.
I inhale his scent, resting my forehead against his. “Perhaps,” I say, swallowing hard. Heat crawls up my neck, but I force myself to keep going. “If we survive the next trial, you can have me.”
His eyes light up with a fever—no violence, no threat. Only hunger. Need.
“Finally,” he says, the glint in his eye returning. “Something to live for.”
He rolls us onto our sides, keeping me wrapped in his arms. We are warm and breathless, lips still bruised from the kiss.
I begin to cry, soft and quiet. Even more embarrassing.
He kisses the tears away, one by one.
We drift into sleep, cocooned together, our heartbeats finding the same rhythm.
Before I go under, I hear him whisper, “Tomorrow, when we wake... I’ll find you. No matter where she puts us.”
I believe him.