Chapter 28 #2
Her eyes traced the black ink of his tattoos, the defined planes of his chest and abdomen. She was definitely not lingering on abs that could make anyone swoon. Definitely not.
“ Ouuu , Dawson .” Solflara snickered.
“ Shove it ,” Alaire snapped, sealing off their connection.
She hissed through her teeth as she assessed the wound. “That looks nasty.”
“Your bedside manner needs work,” he said tightly.
“Hold still.” Alaire poured alcohol onto a cloth and pressed it to his side.
He sucked in a breath, muscles tensing under her touch.
She dropped to her knees between his legs for better access—immediately realizing her mistake.
This is a terrible idea .
“So,” she said, trying to ignore how the position put her eye level with that defined V disappearing beneath his waistband, “are you going to tell me what happened, or make me guess?”
“It’s classified,” Dawson replied, his voice strained.
“Of course it is.” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t tell anyone, you know.”
“Even if I wanted to tell you, I couldn’t.”
Disappointment twisted her gut. But she couldn’t deny the tension in his neck and dark circles under his eyes. The weight he carried was plain to see when he wasn’t hiding behind that perfected mask of indifference. All she was doing was adding to it.
“Dawson,” she began, fingers tightening on her supplies. “I—about before… I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was angry, and I didn’t mean?—”
His gaze stayed fixed on the window, but she caught the sharper rise and fall of his chest. The words felt like crossing a battlefield of constructs from the crucible.
“You were right,” she admitted at last. The words tasted bitter, but it was her fault for how they’d left things. “I couldn’t see past my pain, and that wasn’t fair to you. I lashed out because being angry is easier than feeling… everything else.”
Dawson was quiet for a long time.
When he finally glanced at her, some of the tension in his shoulders eased. “You’re terrible at apologies.”
“I know.” She almost smiled. “But I figured I owed you one anyway.”
His finger barely grazed the purple bruise blooming on her neck from training.
She went still, fighting the urge to lean into his touch.
“Finish stitching me up before I bleed out on your bed, Firework.”
She didn’t respond, returning her focus to cleaning the wound and threading the needle. Her hands were steady despite being painfully aware of every point of contact between them.
He kept watching her with those intense, unreadable turquoise eyes.
“This is going to hurt,” Alaire warned.
“I can handle it.”
She began stitching, her fingers moving with practiced precision. Each time the needle pierced his skin, his body tensed, but he didn’t make a sound.
“How did you get so good at this?” he grunted.
“I had no choice. After leaving the orphanage, I couldn’t access healers. Soulwardens aren’t permitted to treat humans the way they do fae. A lot of us learned to take care of ourselves.”
She lifted the hem of her leathers, revealing a scar above her hip.
“I stitched my wounds because no one else would. Had to bite down on a buckle strap to muffle the pain. Funny how, when faced with life or death, you’ll do almost anything to stay—even if you prayed for Umbra to take you.
You keep moving because stopping means dying. ”
Dawson’s brow furrowed. “There’s one thing I don’t understand. How did you escape Aurelia?”
Her hand froze over his wound. His question scattered her thoughts. She forced herself to focus on the one thing she could fix. “It’s one of the many answers I still don’t have.”
Her fingers worked methodically. Her mind drifted to the flashes that haunted her: the smell of singed flesh, ash, and brimstone. She still wasn’t sure if they were memories or something her mind conjured when the orphanage first told her that her family had perished in a fire.
She’d lived her entire life knowing nothing of her existence before the orphanage. The pieces were too scattered to fit together. But the more she learned—the files in Professor Ross’s office, the fragments of her past—the more she believed the gaps in her memory were intentional.
“The world we live in only cares about power, and power respects strength. People with neither will go to desperate lengths when they feel cornered.” She drew in a deep breath, placing the needle down for a moment as she rested her palms on her thighs.
“I became strong. Turned my body into a weapon so I’d never feel weak again.
I don’t want Aurelia’s throne, and I’m sure as Umbra’s hells not worthy of it.
” Her eyes hardened. “There’s nothing left there.
If there were, its people would deserve far better than me.
I want to live life on my terms. To choose my path. ”
“Alaire, you don’t have to make yourself a martyr to make up for whatever you think you’ve done wrong.”
He was the one with his chest exposed, yet she felt stripped of her armor, vulnerable. She drew an uneasy breath, the air between them magnetic. He was looking at her— into her—in places she’d long since hidden away.
Dawson’s gaze held hers, steady and unflinching.
“Thank you for saying that, but it’s not that simple.”
“Nothing ever is, it seems.”
He cut their connection, eyes shifting toward the Woods of Whispers. Something told her they were no longer only talking about her.
His fists clenched, knuckles white with the force of what he was holding back.
Finally, Dawson cleared his throat. “You should know—I spoke with my mother. All leftover food from the academy will be donated to nearby humans. It’s no great sweeping change, but it’s a start.”
Alaire stared at Dawson for a long moment, his words settling like the first raindrops against cracked earth. A small start. It wasn’t a grand declaration—not the kind that would shake kingdoms or carve names into history. But it was something. It meant he’d been listening, that he’d seen her.
Her throat went tight. She swallowed against the throbbing in her chest. “You have no idea how much that will mean to them,” she said quietly. How much it means to me . “To have even a little more.”
Her fingers curled around the needle. Hope was a fragile thread unspooling within her—hope for those who’d seen too little of it.
She’d always believed change would come as a sweeping tide. But maybe it started as small, steady ripples across still water. She could no longer deny there was more to Dawson Knox than he let the world see. And the terrifying truth was she wanted to find out what that was. More than she should.
Alaire met his gaze, letting him see the part of her that still felt too much and cared too deeply—the part she’d spent so long trying to bury beneath her armor.
“Thank you,” she whispered, pushing down the emotion. It was simple, but it was real . And that was the most terrifying part of all.
Dawson’s hand closed over hers where it clutched the needle, his fingers warm as they covered hers completely. He lifted her knuckles to his lips, pressing the softest kiss there, his eyes never leaving hers.
“You’re welcome, Firework,” he murmured against her skin.
The endearment sent warmth barreling through her, but she forced her focus back to his wound.
They fell into a quiet rhythm, the only sounds his uneven breathing and the hiss of thread pulling taut. Oddly, she found comfort in his presence. For all the ways he seemed to irritate her, something about him calmed her inner turmoil.
“There. You’ll live.” Alaire tied off the thread and sat back on her heels, surveying her work. She set the needle on the bed beside him.
“Thank you,” Dawson said softly. His fingers brushed the inside of her wrist, his gaze piercing hers as though it could bypass every wall she’d built. The scary part was sometimes it felt like it did. “Why help me, though?”
Alaire paused, searching for honesty. While he refused to share his truths, she—for whatever reason—wanted to share hers. “Because… I know what it’s like to feel alone. To have no one to rely on. And because, despite everything, I don’t want to see you hurt.”
Because I care .
His abdomen flexed as he leaned forward, hand rising to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb traced its shell, then down the slope of her cheek in a caress that was far too fleeting. “I hope you know you’re not alone at Aeris Academy.”
“I’m not.” Kaia, Archer, Solflara—and even Dawson—flashed through her mind, filling her with a warmth she wasn’t used to. “Neither are you. If you’re willing to let me in.”
His face went carefully blank, the wall sliding back into place as he averted his gaze.
“It’s not that simple,” he said, jaw tight.
“Nothing ever is,” she echoed softly, his own words returned. Slowly, she stood, giving him space, hoping he would say more. When he didn’t, she wiped her palms on the back of her leathers and stepped away. She couldn’t force him to open up. “Doesn’t mean it’s not worth the risk.”
Silence stretched between them. She busied herself with cleaning the supplies, giving him privacy as he pulled his shirt back on. The rejection shouldn’t have hurt this much. She was a fool to believe he’d say something—anything—to bridge the barrier they always seemed to slam against.
When she finished, Dawson was already at the door, hand resting on the handle.
“Get some rest,” she murmured, moving toward him. “You need it.”
“You too. Thank you again.” He opened the door, but before shutting it, his voice came low and serious. “And Alaire? Be careful. After what happened to Kaia… just be careful.”
The door clicked shut.
Alaire stood there a long moment, her forehead pressed against the wood. The lingering scent of frosted evergreen and salted wind wrapped around her.
She stayed longer than she should’ve before finally turning away and climbing into bed.
Empty and alone.