Chapter 8
Kieran
Pain lances through my ribs when I reach for my shirt.
I don’t let it show.
I’ve endured worse. Survived worse. This is nothing—a bruise, swelling, the price of moving too slow.
The price of failing her.
I force my arms through the sleeves, fabric catching on bandages Malrik wrapped earlier despite my protests. He’d been methodical, silent, disapproving. Finn had offered to stabilize the bruising with chaos magic. I refused. Aspen suggested ice. I declined.
I don’t need help.
I never have.
I never deserved softness anyway.
I step toward the small mirror propped against the wall, assessing the damage. Bruising spreads across my ribs in dark, mottled patterns. Swelling beneath the bandages. Nothing broken, Malrik said. Just fractured pride and strained muscle.
I button the shirt slowly, each movement calculated to hide the way my breath catches. Control is discipline. Discipline is survival. Weakness invites chaos—and my chaos, not Finn’s, means danger.
Danger to her.
I will not be the reason she’s hurt again.
The memory replays whether I want it to or not.
The creature charging.
Her standing exposed, wings flared, shadows wild around her.
The sound when it hit me—bone against muscle, air punching from my lungs.
Then nothing.
I woke here. Bandaged. Bruised. Alive.
They told me what happened after I went down. How Revna intervened. How Kaia was thrown into the river. How she almost—
I stop the thought before it finishes.
She nearly drowned because I wasn’t fast enough.
It could have been worse.
It should have been worse.
She didn’t need me stepping in front of her like some martyr playing hero.
But a life without her isn’t a life at all. I should know. I’ve lived centuries like that.
The thought settles cold in my chest.
I shut it down immediately. Push it away. Lock it behind the walls I’ve spent lifetimes building.
I’m not allowed to need anything from her. Even if it betrays everything I am.
I will not make that mistake again.
A knock at the door.
I straighten, ignoring the way pain spikes through my side.
“I’m fine,” I call out, voice steady. “Tell them I’ll be ready in a moment.”
The air changes before the door opens—warmth where there shouldn’t be any.
Then I hear her breath.
Soft. Uneven. Real.
My entire body stills.
Her shadows slip into the room first—Linda drifting close, protective and calm. Carl darts forward, inspecting the bandages like he’s assessing the damage. Bob yanks him back with a sharp tug, edges bristling.
Mouse pads through the doorway behind them, tail low, eyes locked on me.
Then Kaia steps through.
Pale. Bruised. Unsteady on her feet.
She shouldn’t be walking. She shouldn’t be upright.
And she’s here.
For me.
Everything I rehearsed vanishes.
“You’re hurt,” she says quietly.
Just that. Two words.
They hit harder than the creature did.
I try to deflect. “It’s nothing.”
Her eyes land on the bandages visible beneath my half-buttoned shirt. On the way I’m holding my ribs. On the shallow breaths I can’t quite hide.
“Kieran—”
“You shouldn’t be up.” My voice is too sharp. Too defensive. “You should be resting.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t look away.
“You saved me,” she says.
The words crack something inside my chest.
I didn’t do it to earn gratitude. I did it because I would take a thousand hits before letting something touch her.
“I should have been faster,” I say quietly. “Should have shielded you better.”
“You stepped in front of me.”
“I failed you.”
“You protected me.”
I can’t look at her. Can’t hold the weight of what she’s saying.
Because she’s wrong.
She has to be wrong.
She steps closer.
Too close.
Her shadows follow—gentle, careful, curling around my legs like they’re checking on me too.
She reaches out, fingers hovering near the bandages.
I tense. Instinct. Centuries of silence. Centuries of putting armor over everything that hurt.
Then, slowly, my shoulders drop.
I let her touch me.
Her hand settles against the edge of the bandage, warm and steady.
“Does it hurt?” she asks.
“No.”
Her eyes flick up to mine. She knows I’m lying.
“Kieran.”
I exhale slowly. “Yes.”
She doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t flinch. Just stays close, her hand still resting against my ribs like she knows I need it.
“You didn’t fail me,” she says quietly. “You were there. That’s what matters.”
Something inside me shatters.
Like a wall I’ve built over centuries finally crumbling under the weight of someone who sees me and stays anyway.
She came for me.
Hurting. Unsteady. Stubborn as ever.
Because she needed to see me.
I don’t know what to do with that.
“If I had to take that hit again,” I say, voice low, “I would.”
Her breath catches.
“Every time,” I continue. “Without hesitation.”
“Kieran—”
“I will not fail you again.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be here.”
The words settle somewhere deep. Somewhere I didn’t know was still capable of feeling.
I reach up slowly, carefully, and brush a strand of hair back from her face.
“I will be what you need,” I vow.
She leans into my hand, just slightly, and I feel the shift in everything.
She chose to come here. Chose to see me. Chose to stay.
And I will spend every day earning that choice.
“Stay,” she whispers.
I don’t hesitate.
“I’m not leaving.”
Her forehead presses against my shoulder—gentle, careful, trusting.
I won’t give her a reason to pull away again.
Not now.
Not ever.