Chapter 18 Falla
FALLA
Iwake to pale morning light filtering through thin curtains and reach for Ressa automatically. My hand finds only cool sheets.
The bed's empty.
I sit up, scanning the small bedroom. Her clothes from last night are gone from the floor where we'd scattered them. The blankets on her side are empty, and there's no warmth. Like I've been alone for a while.
My stomach drops.
"Ressa?" I call, keeping my voice low, calm.
No answer.
I find my pants and shirt, dressing quickly while trying to ignore the growing unease in my chest. Maybe she's just making tea. Maybe she woke early and didn't want to disturb me. Maybe I'm overreacting to nothing because my brain refuses to accept that last night actually happened.
But I know Ressa. My head is just trying to protect my heart.
The bedroom door opens to the main cabin space. I spot her immediately—standing at the small kitchen counter with her back to me, shoulders rigid beneath a plain brown dress I've never seen her wear before. Her red hair's pulled into a severe bun that makes her look smaller somehow. More contained.
Like she's trying to disappear into herself.
"Morning," I say, moving toward her.
She doesn't turn around. Just keeps her hands busy arranging items on the counter that don't need arranging. "Morning."
The single word carries none of last night's warmth. It's flat. Distant. The same tone she used weeks ago when I'd first started checking on her injuries and she wanted me gone as quickly as possible.
Every instinct I possess screams warnings. Something's wrong. Something shifted between sleeping and waking and I have no idea what.
"I didn't hear you get up." I take another step closer, my hand lifting to touch her shoulder.
She moves before I make contact, shifting sideways to rearrange a stack of clean bowls. The avoidance is deliberate. Clear.
Don't touch me.
I let my hand drop, forcing myself to stay calm despite the ice forming in my veins. "Did you sleep alright? Your shoulder—"
"It's fine. Everything's fine." She still won't look at me.
"Ressa." I keep my voice gentle, non-threatening. The same tone I use with injured animals that might bolt if I move too quickly. "Talk to me. What's going on?"
Finally, she turns. Her face is composed, carefully neutral in that way people use when they're holding back too much emotion. Brown eyes meet mine without flinching, but there's nothing behind them. No warmth. No recognition of what passed between us just hours ago.
She looks exactly like she did in those first terrible weeks after we brought her here. Withdrawn. Protected by walls so thick I can't find purchase anywhere.
"I wanted to thank you," she says, her words coming out rehearsed. Prepared. "For everything you did this week. You helped me more than you know."
Something cold settles in my chest. "You don't have to thank me."
"I do though. You were patient with me. Kind. You helped me remember what it's like to feel safe again." She wraps her arms around herself, a clear barrier between us. "The festival was exactly what I needed."
Was. Past tense.
"But?" I ask, because there's clearly a but coming and part of me needs to hear it said out loud. Needs to understand exactly how badly I fucked this up.
She looks away, focusing on something past my shoulder. "But we were partners for the week. We paired up, we participated, and now it's over."
I can't make sense of what she is saying. "The events are over."
But that doesn't matter, right? I thought she wanted to keep seeing me.
"Yes."
"And last night—"
"Was part of the week." Her voice doesn't waver. Doesn't crack. She's rehearsed this conversation in her head already, worked out every word while I slept oblivious in her bed. "It was wonderful. You were wonderful. But the festival's done now."
I should argue. Should point out that what happened between us had nothing to do with some ridiculous festival Drogath concocted from misunderstood texts. Should remind her that she kissed me first, pulled me inside, told me she trusted me with words that felt like promises.
But I don't push. I never push Ressa. That's the whole fucking point—I was supposed to be safe. Supposed to be someone who didn't demand more than she could give.
Supposed to be better than this ache spreading through my chest like poison.
Maybe that's why he did this. She knew she'd be safe with me. That I'd heal her.
And now she can keep moving on just like I feared.
"Right." The word comes out flat. "The festival's over."
"I appreciate everything you did for me." She's still not meeting my eyes. "You're a good healer. A good male."
Good. Like I'm some fucking saint instead of someone who just spent the night buried inside her while she gasped my name. Like I didn't taste her pleasure on my tongue or feel her come apart twice beneath my hands.
Like none of it meant anything beyond temporary partnership.
I should leave. Should respect her obvious need for distance and get the fuck out before I make this worse. Should definitely not be standing here trying to understand where I went wrong.
I know her—or I thought I did. I know how she reacts when things get hard and how she withdraws into herself. So even though a part of me is screaming that her healing isn’t linear and she doesn’t want me to leave, I know I’ll never force myself onto her.
She has to choose for me to stay. She has to choose to push through that trauma.
"Did I hurt you?" The question slips out before I can stop it. "Last night, did I—"
"No." Finally, she looks at me fully and her eyes are too bright. Like she's fighting back tears she won't let fall. "You didn't hurt me. You were perfect."
Perfect. The same word she used last night tangled in my arms. It sounds different now. Sounds like goodbye.
I force myself to nod, to accept what she's telling me even though every instinct screams that something's wrong. That this isn't what she actually wants.
But I don't get to decide what she wants. Don't get to push past boundaries just because I think I know better.
That's what the Stonevein males did. Took what they wanted without caring about her consent.
I won't be like them. I refuse to be like them.
"Alright," I say quietly. "I understand."
Relief flashes across her face so quickly I almost miss it. Relief that I'm not fighting this. Not making it harder.
The knowledge that she's relieved to see me go carves something hollow in my chest.
I move toward the door, each step feeling wrong. "If you need anything—medical attention, supplies, anything—you know where to find me."
"Thank you."
I pause with my hand on the door frame, looking back at her standing alone in that small kitchen. She's hugging herself tighter now, her knuckles white where they grip her own arms. Every line of her body screams tension and pain she won't admit to.
But she asked me to go. She made it clear what she wants.
So I go.
The morning air hits cold against my skin as I step outside, the door closing behind me with quiet finality.
The settlement's still mostly asleep, only a few early risers moving between buildings.
No one to witness me walking away from Ressa's cabin alone when I'm sure many suspect I went inside with her last night after the festival.
My feet carry me without conscious direction, following familiar paths toward the edge of the base where forest meets cleared ground. I need space to think. Need to figure out where everything went wrong.
Last night felt right. Felt perfect. She wanted me—I'd swear my life on that truth. The way she kissed me, pulled me inside, begged me not to stop. The sounds she made. The way her body responded to mine.
None of that was fake. None of that was just following festival protocol.
Was it?
I replay every moment from the past week, looking for signs I missed. Times I pushed too hard or moved too fast. Moments where she might have felt pressured to continue because backing out would be awkward.
Day one—I got her out when she panicked. That was right. I know that was right.
Day two—same thing. Saw her struggling and removed her from the situation. Gave her space to breathe.
Day three—she initiated the teasing. Asked me to go faster. Won most of our games and seemed to come out of her shell.
Day four—she got drunk. Fuck. Was that it? Did she only feel safe with me because alcohol lowered her inhibitions and was then horrified by what she revealed?
But day five she kissed me sober. Pulled me down for that kiss after we made rainbows, told me she wanted this. Wanted me.
Day six—nervous but excited when she gave me that beautiful wrap. Looked at me like she was hoping for more than friendship.
Day seven—happy. Laughing. Initiated that kiss after the trail ended. Invited me to the feast and stayed pressed against my side all evening.
And last night...
Last night she pulled me inside her cabin with clear intention. Told me she trusted me. Asked me to come inside her, to give her more, to not hold back.
So what changed between sleeping and waking?
I reach the edge of the settlement and keep walking, needing the familiar rhythm of movement to process. Trees rise around me, their branches dotted with new growth with the early spring's arrival. Birds call overhead, oblivious to the fact that my chest feels like it's caving in.
I was so careful. So fucking careful not to push her beyond what she could handle. Checked in constantly, watched her face for any sign of discomfort, made sure she knew she could stop me at any time.
And still, somehow, I pushed too far.
She wasn't ready. I knew she wasn't ready. Weeks of healing don't erase months of trauma. She needed a friend. Needed to feel safe. Needed someone who wouldn't demand more than she could give.
Instead I gave her seven days of increasing intimacy that culminated in taking her to bed while her trust in me was still fragile.
Did I make her feel taken advantage of? Like she owed me something for helping her heal?
The thought makes me physically ill.
Voices carry through the trees ahead—familiar cadences that signal I've wandered toward the practice grounds without meaning to. I should turn around. Go back to my quarters and work through this alone like I always do.
But my feet keep moving forward until the trees clear enough to reveal the sparring ring. Kai and Ursik are already there despite the early hour, circling each other with practice weapons while their breath mists in cool air.
Ursik spots me first, his grin faltering when he gets a good look at my face. "Fuck. What happened?"
Kai lowers his weapon, his ice-blue eyes assessing me with that unnerving perception he pretends not to have. "Ressa?"
Just her name makes my chest tighten. I force myself to nod.
"I thought you two were good after last night," Ursik says, genuine confusion in his tone. "You looked happy at the feast."
"We were." I cross my arms, needing something to do with my hands. "And then this morning she basically told me the week's over so we're done."
Kai's eyebrows rise. "She said that?"
"Not in those exact words. But the meaning was clear." I replay the conversation, each carefully neutral phrase cutting deeper in memory. "Thanked me for being a good partner during the festival. Made it obvious she wants to move on."
"That doesn't make any fucking sense," Ursik says bluntly. "She couldn't take her eyes off you yesterday."
"Well, apparently that was just part of the festival protocol." The bitterness in my voice surprises me. I don't do bitter. Don't do emotional displays that serve no practical purpose.
But this hurts in ways I didn't know I could hurt.
Kai sets his practice weapon aside, his expression thoughtful. "Did something happen last night? Between the feast and this morning?"
Heat crawls up my neck. "That's not relevant."
"Fuck me, you slept together." Ursik doesn't make it a question.
I don't confirm or deny, which apparently serves as confirmation enough.
"And she regrets it," Kai says quietly. "Or thinks she should regret it."
"She wasn't ready." The admission tastes like failure. "I knew she wasn't ready and I did it anyway because she asked me to and I—"
"Wanted her." Kai's voice carries understanding that makes this worse somehow. "You wanted her and she wanted you and you're both adults who can make decisions about what you do together."
"She's been through hell, Kai. Weeks of healing don't erase that. What if I made her feel like she owed me? Like she had to sleep with me because I helped her?"
"Did you pressure her?"
"No."
"Did she seem reluctant? Uncertain?"
I think about the way she pulled me inside, kissed me with clear intent, told me she wanted all of me. "No."
"Then you didn't do anything wrong." Ursik moves closer, his usual humor absent. "Sometimes people panic after intimacy. Doesn't mean you fucked up."
"She wouldn't even let me touch her this morning. Looked at me like I was..." I trail off, not wanting to finish that sentence.
Like I was someone dangerous. Someone she needed protection from.
"Give her time," Kai suggests. "She might just need space to process."
"Or she might genuinely want me to leave her alone because the festival's over and I was just a convenient partner."
Ursik makes a frustrated sound. "You don't actually believe that."
No. I don't. But believing she regrets last night is easier than believing she's pulling away for some reason I can't fix.
Either way, I don't have her anymore.
I'm not sure I ever really did.