Chapter Thirteen #3
One moment, Melanus’s words were echoing in his skull and the next, he found himself in the bathroom, gripping the edge of the washbasin, his knuckles white, his breaths shallow and uneven. The room spun as the lantern light flickered. His reflection stared back at him: pale, hollow-eyed, marked.
He touched the skin over the sigil. It felt no different to the touch—smooth, warm, innocuous—yet every breath scraped past the knowledge that it was calling to something ancient and hungry. A soft rasp left him, half laugh, half sob.
“So it is me they want,” he muttered. How could that be? He had no connection to this other world.
A knock startled him upright.
“Adrian?” Connor’s voice came deep and rough, concern threaded through every syllable.
Adrian sighed. “I need a moment.”
Silence followed. Then Connor’s voice. “I’ll wait.”
Adrian snorted softly. Of course he would.
Connor Brannigan was many things: infuriating, stubborn, sharp as winter wind. But he was steadfast. Always. The mark pulsed faintly at the thought of him, as if recognising something in Connor that Adrian had not yet admitted aloud.
“Damn it,” Adrian hissed, pushing away from the basin.
He slid down to sit on the floor. “Who the hell am I?” he asked into the dimness. “Why do they want me?”
The mark pulsed, faint, almost sympathetic. Adrian’s lips curled into a self-mocking smile. “Don’t you dare comfort me. You’re the reason we’re here.”
He stood, opened the door, and stepped into hallway.
Connor was waiting, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. His eyes flicked over Adrian’s face, reading every fracture.
“You’re thinking too much,” Connor said.
Adrian huffed. “And you’re not thinking enough.”
“Maybe,” Connor said. “But right now? It looks like you need someone not thinking.”
Adrian looked away. “I don’t know what I need.”
Connor stepped closer carefully, as if Adrian were a spooked animal. “You’re the target,” he said quietly. “That’s a lot to carry.”
Adrian shook his head. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“I know,” Adrian snapped. “That’s why I don’t want to hear it.”
“Talk to me,” Connor murmured.
Adrian stared at him, then laughed. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t breathe properly. I can’t think. Everywhere I look I see people displaced because of me. The village is here because of me. They lost their homes, their safety, their world.”
Connor stepped closer. “Explain it to me.”
Adrian sighed. “If the Council wants me, if they took the village to get to me, then every wasted breath, every risk, every fear our people now face is because of me. And I don’t know how to bear that. So I need to find answers.”
Connor’s expression tightened, like he was holding something back with both hands. “Adrian,” he said. “People may suffer because this fucking Council wants power. Not because you exist.”
Adrian pressed hand to the mark. “Fuck this damned thing.”
“It’s not you,” Connor growled. “Don’t treat it like it’s you.”
“It is me,” Adrian said sharply. “And I’m going to make sure I wrest every damn bit of control it has over me, so I come out on top. Not them. Never them.”
Connor’s breath brushed his cheek. “They fear you. That’s why they want you.”
Adrian stared at him. “But the spark?”
“Whatever spark this is?” Connor’s jaw tightened. “They don’t get to use it. They don’t get to twist what’s ours.”
Adrian’s breath hitched. “Ours?”
Connor went very still. Silence hummed between them, warm, dangerous, and electric.
“You don’t know what you’re bloody saying,” Adrian muttered.
“I know exactly what I’m saying,” Connor said.
Adrian looked away sharply, his heart racing. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
“I haven’t yet.”
Adrian hated how that steadied him. How it warmed something in him despite everything else that was happening to him. Like how the mark pulsed faintly as if it agreed. He slumped down on the floor, back against the wall.
Connor moved to his side, lowering himself to the floor next to him. “I told everyone to leave us alone. We can ask the questions later.”
They sat in silence. After a long moment, he said, “What if they take me?”
Connor’s reply was immediate. “They won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can.”
Adrian let out a breath. “I don’t want to be the reason your people lose everything.”
“You’re not,” Connor murmured. “You might be the reason they survive.”
Adrian looked up sharply. “How could I possibly?”
“Because you’re a Valour,” Connor said. “And you’re not alone.”
Adrian snorted. “I don’t feel like a Valour.”
“Good,” Connor said. “The moment you start acting like a pompous legend, I’ll kick you down the stairs.”
Adrian grinned. “You’re terrible at providing comfort.”
“And yet,” Connor said, bumping his shoulder gently against Adrian’s, “here you are. Less worried than you were ten minutes ago.”
Adrian huffed. “Barely.”
“Then we keep going,” Connor murmured. “Minute by minute.”
For the first time since learning the truth, Adrian’s panic loosened. It wasn’t gone but had become quieter. Manageable. Held back by the warmth of Connor’s hand and the certainty in his voice. He breathed slowly, carefully. And the mark pulsed once. Not in pain. Not in demand.
But in recognition.