Chapter 29
Elora
The first day in the woods passed in a strange, suspended quiet—one filled with the thrum of unease and the low, constant murmur of Rell’s voice.
He talked almost nonstop. Not about anything particularly important, just…
stories. Tales of mercenary work across Adruimor, each one a blend of gritty realism and a touch of indifference.
These were accounts of "odd jobs," half-heartedly recounted, with most likely involving far more violence than he cared to admit.
There was one about a butcher’s son who wanted his lover’s abuser assassinated.
It was a harrowing tale of justice until Rell revealed that the abuser was actually her gentle and kind husband and her and the butcher’s son were only lovers in his mind, not reality.
“Very unfortunate, but the job still paid well,” Rell had said with a shrug.
Another tale followed the perilous task of escorting a noble's pampered dog through a treacherous mountain pass teeming with raiders, each story painted with vivid strokes of danger and intrigue.
Elora said little in return, only offering the occasional nod or low hum to acknowledge she was still listening.
She didn’t have the energy to match his easy banter.
Not when her ears caught every creak of the trees and flutter of wings overhead.
Her sharpened senses painted every shadow as a threat, every gust of wind a whisper from something unseen.
The whispers themselves came and went, drifting through the trees like forgotten songs. They looped and twisted, flickering at the edge of audibility before vanishing, leaving ghostly echoes in their wake. Haunting and sinister, they seemed alive, as if the forest was trying to speak.
She didn’t listen.
Still, the forest's presence felt heavy and enclosing. And though Rell never mentioned it aloud, she could tell he felt it too. He never strayed more than a few feet from her, always within reach but never crowding her either. Just there. A steady presence.
By evening, the light dimmed into a smoky gold, and the trees finally gave way to a small clearing. A narrow river cut through one side, its water clear and fast-moving. The sound of it was a relief.
Rell stepped ahead, scanning the perimeter though she could already tell they were alone. “This’ll do,” he said. “Water’s clean, no fresh tracks nearby, and we’ve got good visibility if anything tries to sneak up on us.”
Elora didn’t argue. She was too tired too.
Her limbs ached, not from walking, but from tension. Her claws hadn’t retracted once all day, and every sound still prickled at her nerves like static.
Rell stretched with a grunt, and brushed his hands on his pants, dust and soot catching the rays of light. “We both stink,” he said bluntly. “You more than me, probably.”
Elora gave him a flat look.
Rell just smirked and nodded toward the river. “Let’s bathe. You’ll sleep better not coated in sweat and soot.”
Elora stiffened. The idea of taking off her clothes—of exposing even part of herself here, now, in the open woods with him nearby—was absolutely impossible. Her mind flashed to Gerard, to Sadia helping her scrub the remnants of him away, but never truly feeling clean.
Rell didn’t seem to notice the shift in her posture, or maybe he chose not to. Instead, he grabbed two small vials from his satchel and placed one on a flat rock near her. The other he kept in hand.
“Do you want to stay here or go upstream? I’ll take whatever spot you don’t.”
Upstream the trees enveloped the river, providing cover.
Less exposed. She didn’t want to bathe at all, despite how much dirt clung to her sweat-slicken neck and dust crusted on her scalp.
But she knew he was right. This would be a long, disgusting journey if she didn’t.
She pocketed the vial and walked upstream.
“I’ll be here,” he said. “Don’t worry, I can’t see a damn thing through the trees, anyway. You scream, I’ll come running.”
She didn’t answer, and he didn’t wait for her to. Just gave her a nod and walked off, toward the river, already peeling off his coat.
Only when she heard the soft splash of him stepping into the water did she exhale.
The trees did provide enough cover, though being able to hear him splashing made her feel entirely too close.
She waited and listened. Listened for the crunch of twinges snapping, of someone approaching, of Rell jumping out of the bushes ready to tease her about her scars or her hesitation. But none of that came.
She exhaled, sat on a root, and fidgeted with the straps of her boots, taking far too long to peel them off. Then her cloak, which she folded and refolded before setting it gently on a rock. Her fingers hovered at the hem of her shirt… and froze.
She couldn’t.
Even though she was alone now. Even though he wasn’t watching. She couldn’t make her hands move.
Instead, she stood and stepped toward the river, still fully clothed. They’re filthy anyway, she told herself. This is practical. Efficient.
She slid into the cool current slowly, letting it rise up around her calves, her thighs, her chest. The weight of her clothes tugged against her body, but she didn’t care.
The water was crisp and sharp against her overheated skin.
She moved deeper until the current whispered past her collarbones.
Then, she dipped her head back, letting her hair soak.
The cold hit her scalp with a sudden jolt that sent a shiver racing all the way to her toes.
It almost knocked the breath from her lungs.
She half-gasped at the sensation, unsure if she liked it or not.
But then it eased, mellowing from a bite into a soothing embrace, numbing the edges of her awareness that had been screaming danger all day.
It spread gentle fingers of calm down her neck and shoulders, unwinding knots she didn’t realize she’d tied so tightly.
She closed her eyes and let the chill do its work. For the first time since they’d entered the woods, everything inside her went quiet. Every coiled muscle relaxed. Every hyper-tuned instinct softened.
Relief came with it, and she found herself exhaling in long, slow breaths.
Almost like peace.
She reached for the vial, the water tugging insistently at her sleeves, and felt its smooth surface beneath her fingertips.
When she uncorked it, a clean, sharp aroma burst forth, cutting through the damp, wooded scent of the forest. It was a mixture meant to mask the smell of soot and sweat, and she poured it over her wet hair, feeling it bubble and fizz as it spread across her scalp.
The river carried away the emerging foam, and she watched it spiral downstream before scrubbing at her skin with a determination to actually feel clean.
Even fully clothed, she attacked the grime with an urgency that bordered on frantic.
Her hands scraped away every trace of dirt and dust and memory, avoiding her scars, and avoiding cutting herself with her claws.
She stayed underwater for a long time, moving against the pull of the current, making sure that nothing, absolutely nothing, clung to her. She had to get clean. Clean enough that this whole thing was worth it. Clean enough that she could breathe without catching the scent of her own fear.
When she was finally satisfied, she let the river sweep away the last of the foam.
Then she eased her way out of the current, water streaming off her heavy clothes in long rivulets.
The chill of the air hit her with full force, but she didn’t care.
Her mind felt clearer, and her body felt lighter even as the fabric clung to her limbs.
When she reached the clearing, Rell was crouched near a pile of kindling, bare-chested and focused on coaxing a flame to life.
Her gaze caught on the lines of his back, the way his skin pulled taut over muscle, and something in her stirred—hot, wrong, immediate.
She looked away fast. It was nothing. She wasn’t allowed to feel that.
Yet, she couldn’t help but feel this pull toward him, to step closer instead of away.
Rell finally glanced up, caught her staring, and raised an eyebrow. The look on his face was a mix of amusement and something else, something she couldn’t quite decipher. Maybe didn’t want to.
“Water not cold enough for you?” he asked, nodding at her soaked clothes.
Her cheeks flared even more. She shook her head, tried to sound nonchalant. “It’s fine.”
“Fine,” he repeated, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You’re shivering.”
“I’m not.” She was.
He set down the kindling and rummaged through his satchel, retrieving a thin, folded blanket. “Here,” he said, tossing it to her. “Wrap yourself up before you freeze solid.”
She caught it and held it awkwardly for a moment before draping it over her shoulders. She buried her face in it for a moment, just long enough to inhale him—pine, ash, leather. It was grounding. It was unbearable.
She sat near the fire, feeling the heat warm her freezing skin and dry her clothes.
That’s when she saw them.
A small patch of wildflowers—pinks and purples smeared together like bruises. The sight hit her hard.
She didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
One… two… three.
The sounds of the forest dulled. All she could hear was her own breath, and then—his voice.
Feels good, doesn't it? I knew you wanted this.
Her hands trembled. She clenched them into fists, willing herself to stay present, but she was slipping. Slipping fast.
This the first time you’ve been fucked? I can tell by how tight you are.
The whispers wrapped around her like a noose.
She couldn’t remember him saying those things but she knew in her bones they were memories.
Her gaze locked on the flowers, unable to look away, as if counting them might anchor her.
But the petals bled together, same as before. Pink. Purple. Pink again.
Everything within her seemed to halt, torn between fighting back and succumbing to the overwhelming memories.
“Hey,” A voice filtered through the haze. It was muffled and distant, like it was coming from the bottom of a well. She was drowning in memories, the wildflowers dragging her under.
She didn’t react.
“Elora?”
She blinked and looked around, desperate for some footing. It was Rell. He was the one speaking, not—
Rell stepped closer, his footfall sounding like boots on dirt, too much like that day. Too loud. Too close. She flinched. As he reached out, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her sleeve, an instinct took over, primal and panicked. She didn’t think.
She snapped.
She twisted out from under his reach, her mind still swimming, her vision blurred by the ghosts of what once was.
Her wild eyes locked on him as if he was the enemy.
She bared her teeth, letting out a warning.
Her spine arched like a cornered cat, ready to launch herself at him, ready to fight for her life if she had to, ready to tear him apart if he crossed another inch.
Rell stumbled backward, caught off guard and tripping over a root. He barely managed to keep his balance, his hands going up in immediate surrender.
“Hey, hey—it’s me. Just me.”
Elora crouched low, every muscle tense and refusing to relax.
Her wild instincts fought for control. She was back there again, cornered, no power, no way out.
This time, she wouldn’t be a victim. Not again.
I’ll fight this time. She was ready to strike, or run, or both. She was ready to do anything but break.
“You’re safe,” he said, slowly kneeling a few feet away. He moved with careful intent, like she was a wounded animal. “It’s the forest—it messes with your head. I know. But you’re safe.” He didn’t inch closer, just stayed steady, hoping she’d meet him halfway.
Her hands shook. The scent of those flowers lingered.
She blinked hard, her vision doubling. Rell’s face morphed into someone else’s—ginger hair, crocked, cocky smirk—then back again.
The whispers aren’t real. She forced herself to believe it. She fought through panic and memory and terror until she saw only Rell. Just Rell.
She dropped her claws.
The world shifted back into focus, the forest giving way to the present with grudging reluctance. She pressed her thumb into her palm—steadying her heartbeat—until the wildflowers weren’t so wild anymore.
The fire crackled, low and steady, but Elora barely registered it.
She sat still, hunched and trembling slightly. Her breathing was shallow. She wasn’t looking at the flowers anymore, but their color still pulsed in her mind like bruises behind her eyes.
Rell didn’t speak right away. Didn’t ask questions or apologize again. She heard his footsteps retreat, then return.
Something warm was pressed gently into her hand. A tin cup. She didn’t move.
“Don’t have much that helps in a place like this,” he said quietly, settling down in front of her. “But heat grounds you. It tricks your body into thinking you’re somewhere safe.”
She still didn’t respond. Her fingers tightened around the cup without lifting it.
Rell shifted moved slightly to block her line of sight—to block them. The flowers.
He sat cross-legged, resting his elbows on his knees, gaze distant but steady.
“I’ve been through these woods a dozen times,” he said, voice low and steady. “Doesn’t matter how many times I try to brace for it. The whispers always find a way to crawl under the skin.” He didn’t look at her, just stared into the fire. “I still hear my sister. Her crying. Calling for help.”
Elora said nothing. She couldn’t—not with her throat tight, her jaw locked from the aftershocks. But her eyes lifted to his face, searching.
“I don’t talk about her,” Rell added with a faint, humorless smile. “Never really saw the point in dragging old ghosts into the present. But this place doesn’t give you a choice, does it?”
She shook her head, slowly.
“You don’t have to tell me what it was,” he continued, more gently. “Just know—I know the look. When you can’t tell what’s memory and what’s real anymore.”
The warmth of the cup seeped into her fingers. She focused on that—just that. Heat. A texture. A temperature. Something real.
He glanced at her. “You’re not alone out here. Not while I’m with you.”
Elora didn’t nod. Didn’t speak. But her grip on the cup loosened, her claws retracting just slightly. Enough to hold the metal without warping it.
The fire crackled on.
And though the woods still whispered, she didn’t hear Gerard’s voice this time, only the quiet hum of the flames and the steady rhythm of Rell’s breathing across from her.
Elora’s hands steadied more with each passing moment. The warmth, the smell of smoke and leaves, even Rell’s presence—each grounded her in different ways. She took a small sip from the cup, its heat scalding her mouth. But at least it was a real pain, a here-and-now pain.