Chapter 22 #2
I won’t look at him. Won’t give him a second of my thoughts. My mind won’t stop spiraling—because of Thane, because of what I saw, because I don’t know what it means now.
I need space. I need to breathe. I need to process this.
I turn away and walk off the field. And Lyra follows me.
I don’t make it three steps before she falls into stride beside me.
“Well,” she says, casually wiping sweat from her brow, “that was fascinating.”
I groan.
“Ly, don’t—just drop it.”
I keep walking.
“Absolutely not.”
Because Lyra isn’t just my best friend. She is my family, my sister. She was the one who kept me standing after our village burned and my parents died. The one who made me laugh when I wanted to break. The one who never lets me hide—not from my grief, not from my anger, not from myself.
She grins, bumping my shoulder, trying to make light of something that feels far too heavy right now.
“So . . . do we think it’s true love?”
“By the gods, Lyra—now is not a good time,” I snap.
She pauses, assesses me. “There is something going on between you. Now what the hell is it?”
She grabs my arm, stopping me as we pass the mess hall. The teasing vanishes. The humor fades. And what’s left is just Lyra—real, sharp, unforgiving.
“Amara,” she says, quieter now. “You can lie to yourself. But you can’t lie to me.”
I press my lips together, jaw clenched.
Her eyes soften—just a little.
“And I know what you look like when you’re afraid of something. You act all angry, but really . . . you’re scared.”
I exhale, shoulders tight, breath uneven. “I’m not afraid.”
She doesn’t flinch. “Then why won’t you even look at him?”
I don’t have an answer. Because she’s right. And I hate her and love her for it.
Lyra doesn’t let it go. She never does.
She follows me into the barracks, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
I pretend I don’t notice. Pretend I don’t feel her staring at the back of my head like she’s waiting for me to break. Just like I was pretending with Thane back out on the training field.
I drop onto the trunk at the foot of the bunk beds we share, kick off my boots, run my hands through my sweaty, tangled hair.
Silence.
Then, Lyra leans against the bedpost, arms still folded, voice too casual. “What are you resisting so much?”
I stiffen. “I’m not resisting.”
She tilts her head. “You are.”
I scoff.
She laughs—short, sharp. But there’s no humor in it.
“You’re making something out of nothing.
Mara, you ran off the training field like the fucking shadows themselves were chasing you.
” A pause. “Was it because Thane moved before you did? Because he felt it before you even reacted?” Her voice softens just slightly.
“You’ve been off for days. You think no one’s noticed, but I have. ”
I glare at her, refusing to relent. “That’s not what happened.”
She waits—and says nothing. Letting the silence hang heavy between us.
My chest tightens, pulse hammering in my throat. Finally, I exhale, dragging a hand down my face.
“I don’t know,” I mutter, pressing my palms to my eyes.
And it’s the truth. I don’t know why it terrifies me. Why it feels like a loss of control. Like something shifting beneath my feet that I can’t stop. It’s just one more thing—one more impossible weight on the long list of everything that’s happened since the attack on our village.
So why this? Why now? Why does this feel heavier than everything else? Why does the thought of Thane knowing what I’ll do before I do make me sick?
But Lyra just shakes her head.
“No, you do know.” Her voice is softer now. “You just don’t want to say it.”
The next day, training continues. The shadow wraiths are faster. Smarter. Valen is pushing harder, summoning more, making them move unpredictably.
I dodge, fire flickering in my palm, wind curling around my body as I block, counter, move.
The air shifts.
A Fellborn wraith appears behind me, silent, too close, too fast. I don’t see it. I don’t sense it. But Thane does.
Before I even know there’s a threat—he moves.
His fire ignites, a roaring inferno searing through the air, striking the Fellborn wraith down in an instant. I barely manage to spin around in time to see the last flicker of it dissolve into smoke.
I stagger back, breathless, eyes snapping to Thane. He’s not even looking at me. Not yet. His blade is still raised, fire licking up his forearm, his jaw tight.
Then, slowly, he turns. Our eyes meet—and I know. It hits like a truth I didn’t want to see. Because I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t frozen. I wasn’t slow. I just . . . hadn’t seen it yet.
But he had.
He felt it before I did. He moved before I even knew I needed him. And that—that lack of control is what terrifies me.
The training ground holds its breath.
Lyra, Taila, and Nessa are all training with us today, but none of them say a word. Their swords drop to their sides—no longer in ready stances. Not disengaged, just . . . watching. Every one of them looking at me.
Valen stands at the edge, staff in hand. Still. Measuring. Waiting.
And Thane?
Thane is still looking at me—his smoke-gray eyes locked onto mine, intensity and intention swirling with those golden flecks I’ve gotten lost in before.
But not today. I can’t. Instead, I turn on my heel and walk off the field.
This time, he follows.
The air is thick with smoke and sweat, the scent of scorched earth lingering after the fighting session. The soldiers have gone back to their drills. The training grounds are still loud—clashing swords, grunts of exertion, the occasional barked command from Garrick, Jarek, or Rian.
But I don’t hear any of it. Because Thane is following me.
I make it halfway to the barracks before I hear his footsteps close behind me. I could keep ignoring him. Pretend I don’t feel the heat of his gaze burning into my back.
But then—he speaks.
“Amara.”
My heart stumbles at the sound of my name on his lips.
But I don’t stop.
I can’t.
I need to feel like something—anything—is still mine to control.
“Keep walking away if you want,” he says, voice low, rough, deadly calm. “But you and I both know it won’t change anything.”
I freeze mid-step. Because he’s right. I’ve been running from this for days, and all it’s done is make the bond stronger.
Slowly, I turn to face him.
His eyes lock onto mine, fierce and unshaken.
“You need to stop resisting this. I’ve given you time and space, but you’re still avoiding . . . ” He swallows. “The bond. Please . . . can we finally talk about this?”
My chest tightens.
“This? There is no bond, Thane.” The lie tastes like ash.
His jaw flexes, his hands clenching at his sides like he’s physically restraining himself from shaking some sense into me.
“Then why are you running?”
I glare at him. “I’m not running.”
He tilts his head slightly, the way he does when he knows he’s already won the argument. “You left the training field the moment you realized what happened.”
I open my mouth. Close it. Because I don’t have an answer.
Thane exhales sharply, shaking his head, frustration bleeding into his voice. “I don’t know what this is, Amara.”
He takes another step closer, and gods, he’s too close now. Everything about him presses in—heat, tension, unspoken truths.
“But we need to figure it out. Because like it or not, the realm depends on us . . . both.”
My breath catches.
Duty. Destiny. The path laid out. The right thing.
That’s what Thane does. He puts everything ahead of himself.
Maybe even ahead of me.
And I hate that part of me knows he’s right. Hate that I would probably do the same. Hate that I’ve spent weeks trying to ignore something that might matter more than either of us truly understand.
I shake my head, voice sharp.
“That’s the problem with you, Thane. You always put duty first. You didn’t stop to ask if I want any of this—or if you want any of this.” I step back, my fists clenched. “And maybe I’m tired of being the afterthought to whatever the realm needs.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“You want to figure this out?” I ask, voice low. “Then stop pretending like this is just about the war. Or the realm. Or what Valen and the scholars think we should be.” I swallow hard. “Start asking what you want. Because that’s the only way I’ll ever believe it.”
Thane looks at me like I slapped him. Like I tore the words out of him and threw them back in his face. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just stares. Smoke-gray eyes dark and raw.
For a moment, the silence stretches between us. Heavy. Cracked open. A thundercloud swollen with rain—waiting to break, but refusing to fall.
Then—he exhales. Long. Slow. A breath he’s been holding something in for far too long.
“I have asked,” he says finally, voice low. “Every godsdamned day I ask. And I still don’t know what I’m allowed to want anymore.”
His words land heavy. Real.
He takes another slow step toward me.
“You think I chose the bond?”
Another step.
“You think I wanted prophecy over choice?”
Thane stops in front of me. He doesn’t have to raise his voice to eclipse everything else. I can feel the heat coming off him in waves—like the fire he wields, barely restrained. His voice frayed at the edges now.
“I didn’t ask for this.” A beat. “But I do want it. I want you.”
My shoulders tremble. I don’t move. I don’t breathe. And when I finally speak, my voice breaks.
“I don’t know how to believe anything anymore.”
My parents are gone. The world says I’m the Spiritborn. The bond chose me. No one asked what I wanted or what I needed.
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t try to fill the silence.
Just stands there, watching me with those striking eyes, still and steady. Always so steady.
I press a hand to my chest, curling my fingers in like I can hold something together. Like I can stop myself from falling apart.
“I’m losing pieces of myself just trying to hold onto what’s real.” The words spill out—softer now, shaking. “I want to believe you—I do.”