The Breathless Hush
Collin stepped into the silent square just as Dragonfly appeared at the far end. She hadn’t seen him yet.
He took off running. The slap of his boots on sun-warmed stone echoed sharp in the stillness, drawing her gaze.
She paused and waited, one foot lifted mid-step like she might take flight.
The bow and quiver over her shoulder gave her the look of a storybook huntress, though Collin could never decide if she belonged more to myth or to morning light.
In one hand, she held two empty burlap sacks, but even those seemed somehow charmed in her grip.
Her blouse was loose and white, catching the breeze like a sail—soft and secretive, veiling the shape of her with a kind of grace that made his chest ache.
The brown work skirt clung to her legs, meant for brambles and thorns, but on her it looked far finer.
Collin smiled as he caught up to her. "Good morning!"
"Oh, hi. How did you do last night?”
Collin snorted. “I heroically spared all the targets. Call it an act of mercy.”
Dragonfly stifled her giggle. “Sorry I missed it. Perhaps sometime...”
Just then, Arion came sprinting into the square from another road, arms flailing like he had urgent news to declare. “Wait up!”
Annoyance flared—hot and quick—through Collin’s chest. The moment had been delicate, balanced like a petal on water—and now it was crushed underfoot. He glanced back at Dragonfly, trying to catch whatever thread had been unraveling between them.
“What were you saying?”
She only shrugged, gaze already drifting as Arion caught up. The spark was gone.
The trio headed for the hospital. On the front steps, Hadria stood with Aries and Lekyi, framed by pillars and sunlight.
Collin clapped Lekyi on the shoulder in greeting. Lekyi answered with the easy strength of old friendship.
Lekyi had always been the golden one—handsome, with a voice like wind over strings and a way of speaking that made people lean in without realizing it.
What set him apart, though, wasn’t charm or looks—it was the mind behind it all.
He wasn’t born into anything grand. No titles, no powerful relatives whispering favors into the right ears.
But still, he rose—fast and clean, by sheer force of will.
Grit, brilliance, endless hours burned away behind closed doors.
Somehow, he didn’t just lift himself—he pulled his whole family upward with him, like a tide that refused to stay low.
Collin admired him for that. Not just for what he’d done, but for how easy he made it all look. All anyone needed was to listen closely at any dinner table, any gathering of ambitious mothers, and they’d hear his name spoken like a hope—soft, eager, almost reverent.
Collin adjusted a heavy bundle of rope on his shoulder. He eyed Aries’s bandaged hand. "So, what’s the diagnosis?"
"It’s just a sprain. I shall fight another day," Aries said as he glared fiercely at Arion.
Hadria grabbed a spear that was propped against the wall. She thrust the weapon in Arion’s direction. "We need to get going. I have things to do after we are finished with the boar hunt."
“I set a few traps yesterday in preparation,” Lekyi said, hopping lightly down from the steps.
He moved to Dragonfly’s side with the kind of ease that made it look rehearsed. Without a word, she lifted her arm for him. He began rolling up the sleeves of her blouse, his touch brisk but familiar.
Collin glanced toward the hospital doors. The entryway stood open, shadows pooling across the tile inside.
“Where’s River? He said he’d bring his dogs.”
“He isn’t in there,” Hadria answered, barely looking up.
“River told Aries and me he’d join us today.”
“Maybe he changed his mind,” Arion offered.
“He would’ve told one of us,” Lekyi said, and his voice held something taut—concern pulling at the edges.
“Go on ahead,” Aries said, clapping Collin’s shoulder. “We’ll check Greenswood for him. I’m sure he’s just running late.”
The group nodded. Collin handed off their rope, wire traps, and other supplies. As the others started down the road, he watched Dragonfly from the corner of his eye.
Just before they rounded the bend, he caught it—Lekyi slinging an arm casually over her shoulders. Dragonfly leaned in and whispered close to his ear. Whatever she said, they burst into laughter together, easy and unbothered.
Collin stood still a moment longer, the sound of it echoing long after they were out of sight.
A shadow passed through him, soft but sudden—like a cloud slipping in front of the sun, stealing the warmth she’d left behind.
Dragonfly and Lekyi had always shared a certain ease, the kind that went back years, woven into their bones.
But the way she leaned into him now, the way they laughed—maybe it wasn’t just history between them. Maybe it was something still unfolding.
Aries stepped off the hospital steps. “Come on. It’s already getting hot.”
Still frowning in the direction Dragonfly had gone, Collin asked absently, “How was your night in the hospital? Did you get any sleep?”
“I slept a little, but the bed was hard and squeaky.” Aries smacked his lower back with a grimace. “My spine is officially sixty years old.”
“Well, without your snoring, I finally had a wonderful night’s sleep.”
Aries shot him a wounded look. “Cruel. After everything I’ve done for you.”
Collin let out a laugh, the tension loosening just slightly from his shoulders.
“Now that you’re working too,” Aries said, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, “maybe we can finally save up enough to build another bedroom.”
The suggestion tugged Collin’s thoughts away from the image of Dragonfly and Lekyi laughing together. “Not a bad idea. I’ll check with Nic on the cost of lumber.”
“It’ll be cheaper if we build it ourselves. How hard can it be to tack a little room onto the side of the house?”
Collin groaned. “If we’re building it ourselves, we’ll only be able to work afternoons after our shifts. At that rate, it’ll be done by next winter.”
“We’ll figure out the details once we know the price. No need to put our wagon before the horse. More importantly—who’s moving? You or me?”
Collin snorted. “Talk about the horse before the wagon! But I’m not moving. I’m not dragging all my things out of my room. And don’t forget—it was mine first.”
“I have no problem moving out,” Aries said breezily. “Honestly, I’d love to have a private door. Separate from the house.”
Collin rolled his eyes. “If Grandfather hears what you’re planning, he won’t let us build anything.”
“Technically, the house and land were left to you by your parents,” Aries pointed out. “So the building permit goes in your name. Grandfather doesn’t get a say.”
“Maybe so, but I dare you to tell him that.”
“I’m not going to sneak Hadria into my room,” Aries said quickly, hands raised in mock innocence.
Collin shook his head, laughing again despite himself. “You didn’t have to say that out loud.”
“But—” He hesitated, glancing at Aries. "Is it a good idea for you and Hadria to be so, well, so public?"
“You worry too much.”
“You don’t worry enough.”
“And it’s not like everyone doesn’t already know we’re together!
” Aries declared. “Besides, I’m not afraid of Montigo.
If he killed me, who would make his swords?
Other than Grandfather and Titus, I’m the best smith he has.
And once Titus retires—and I hear he will, soon enough—I’ll be the only one left. ”
Collin didn’t answer right away. Aries’s confidence rang clear, but it didn’t ease the knot forming in his chest.
Once, long ago, Collin’s father had been known across Crimisa for his glasswork—delicate, intricate, coveted by tradesmen from the Blue Isles. People said his pieces caught light the way water caught moon. But none of that brilliance had protected him in the end. Talent hadn’t saved Jiah.
Why would it save Aries?
Aries was just another name in Montigo’s empire, easy to overlook. But that wouldn’t last. The more boldly he loved Hadria, the more attention he drew. And Montigo, Collin knew too well, noticed everything—especially the things that dared to touch what he considered his.
"Hadria is amazing," Aries went on fervently. "I’m not going to give her up for anything less than death.”
As they neared River’s house, unease prickled under Collin’s skin.
River was never late. His dogs were usually a blur of scrappy joy, but the road ahead was still.
Half a mile out, he saw them—River dragging his feet, shoulders folded in, dogs trailing with heads low.
“Sorry,” River said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“There’s no need,” Collin replied too quickly, the wrongness of the moment already knotting in his chest.
“What’s the matter?” Aries asked softly.
“Nothing.” River tugged down his sleeve, too late to hide the dark bruise.
Aries reached for his arm. River jerked back, silent, shutting them out. Collin met Aries’s eyes, the worry unspoken, and they fell into step beside him.
One of the dogs stopped and sat down. River turned, scooped her up, and kept walking without a word.
The path wound ahead in suffocating quiet. Collin counted his steps—leaves, twigs, anything to keep from thinking—but the silence pressed in like smoke. Aries’s face was just as drawn, just as uncertain.
“River,” Collin said finally, his voice tight. “Tell us what happened.”
For a long moment there was only breathing. Then—
“My father struck me,” River blurted. “I couldn’t take it anymore. So I left.”
Collin’s chest tightened. He had known—of course he had. Not in words, but in bruises explained away, in River’s flinch when voices rose. Pretending ignorance had been easier. And now it felt like betrayal carved deep.
They walked until River stopped, setting the dog down and leaning against a tree. His face fell into his hands.
“He’s been hitting me my whole life,” he said.