CHAPTER 28 | BREN’S HOUSE #3
Lyra declines, doesn’t even look his way, her gaze still locked on mine, eyes narrow. Fuck, I wish I could see what's going on in that beautiful head of hers right now. Wondering if a monster like me could really be dropping Spice across the border to a random kid I don't even know.
I fix the sound so it threads low and smooth—just enough to land at her ear and no one else’s.
“Don’t know why you’re staring at me,” I murmur as I settle deeper into the armchair, letting my hands drift up—open, harmless.
She jumps when it lands. Then, with a hint of a grin, “But it sounds like your friend’s got herself a catch. ”
For a moment longer, her eyes search mine, connecting dots that she doesn't quite want to believe. Good, best if she doesn't.
“So… Lyra told me you have five sisters?” Ezzy jumps in as Bren sits back down at the table with her tea.
Five sisters, really? Oh, come on.
“Yeah, all younger,” he replies, “My mum raised us on her own, so—”
My fingers curl before I even register the impulse, and his voice cuts out mid-sentence—clean and precise. Bren frowns. Clears his throat. Tries again.
“—on her own, so I was the only guy in the house growing up.” He pauses, shakes his head once.
Oh, this is too fun.
“This is what you deem an appropriate use of your time and talents?” Cal’s voice slips through, weighted with quiet contempt. I ignore him, swallow hard and shut him back out.
“Could’ve used some of that,” Finn jokes beside Bren. “I had five brothers. Our house smelled like sweat and blood and whatever we were burning that day.”
“Yeah, well, it has its—”
I feel the sound snap shut in my palm, caught tight in the space between my fingers. God, that never gets old. Bren’s brow creases now like he’s trying to force the sentence out by sheer will. Poor bastard.
Across the room, Lyra snaps her head towards me. Her eyes are knives, sharp and accusing. I lift a brow. What? Then her gaze drops to the stack of journals beside me. She’s close to breaking. I can see it. Feel it, but I can't fucking help myself. I open my fingers, Bren’s voice cuts back in again.
“—its pros and cons.” He coughs. Blinks. Shakes his head. “What the—?”
That’s it. Lyra shoves back her chair, hard and walks straight across the room, beeline for me.
Shit. Too far.
She’s strong, but not that strong. Still, I don’t protest when her hand grabs my arm, dragging me to my feet, hauling me toward the door like she’s done being in the same room as me.
I reach back, grab my daggers, slide them into place—just before she shoves me out.
The cold hits first, then the dark, and as she lets go, a shiver rolls across her skin. I have to stop myself from reaching for her, pulling her in, holding her warm. She’s not yours. Not like that.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Her voice slices through the quiet, hard and clean. “Why are you really here? What’s your deal with Bren?”
“Yes, why are you really here?” Cal demands, followed by a deep growl that scrapes along my spine.
Fuck. Get out of my head.
I brace—shoulders locking, air held tight in my chest—and shove him back, hard. But he’s already there, claws dug in. And it’s a losing fucking battle, my control slips an inch more.
“Other than the fact he’s an Outerlander who’s been taking down my men?” I lean in. “He likes you.”
“Of course he likes me. He’s known me since I was like five.”
I tilt my head. “Oh, we both know it’s more than that.”
“No, it isn’t. And how the hell would you know anyway? We’re just friends. We fuck sometimes, that’s it.”
I already knew. Of course I fucking knew. But hearing her say it, hearing that, tears something open in me.
He’s had her, touched her, seen her like that.
And I haven’t, not like I want to, not even close.
And she says it like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t fucking matter.
But god—he’s in love with her, anyone with eyes can see it.
She must know. She has to. So why the fuck is she looking at me like she’s oblivious to it?
“Thorn,” I murmur, stepping in closer, too close, and I catch it—Her.
Sweet and sharp all at once. Like citrus sliced open, with something softer beneath, something I still can’t name.
It hits like a punch every time—lungs stall, pulse heavy, breath caught somewhere between wanting and restraint.
And no matter how close she gets, it’s never close enough.
I swallow hard, hoping she doesn’t notice and continue.
“I’m usually good at picking up on people’s emotions, but with him?
I don’t even need to. And I know you’re not stupid—you see it too. ”
She flinches, barely. But it’s there, like I hit a nerve.
Like something just clicked into place in that beautiful head of hers.
Then she looks at me. Not the way she usually does, this is new.
Like she’s seeing through my cracks for the first time.
And fuck—those eyes. God, Lyra, do you even know what you do to me?
My chest tightens. So does her face.
“I’m tired,” she snaps. “I’m going to sleep. So, unless you plan to sit there and watch me snore like a creep, you can leave.”
“Would that make you happy if I left?” I ask, voice tight, like I’m barely holding back the kind of stupid that ends with my mouth on hers.
“Yeah, it would.” Still no emotion. Just cold silence stretched between us.
“Leave, before you deepen the damage. Before you do something even more irreparable.” Cal’s voice seeps through, controlled, but furious.
I grit my jaw, hard. “Fine.”
The word slips out, more force than answer. It’s directed at him, at myself, at everything I can’t say. But not her, never her.
She doesn’t blink. Arms folded. Voice sharp. “Ezzy, Finn, Rowan... They’re not going to get in trouble for this, right? It’s not their fault, they were just helping me.”
“I already promised you on the ledge—I won’t touch them. But they better not be stupid enough to abandon their patrol again. I’ll take them back to the Ashvale outpost now. They stay there until morning, then I’ll see them back to the Citadel myself.”
She holds my gaze a second longer, eyes narrow, searching, then. “Good.”
“Good,” I reply, “the journals are inside. Tell the others to meet me at the outpost—”
I turn before I say anything else.
Because all I want to do is pull her in—Tell her everything. That I’m not here to hurt her. That I never was. That all I want is to keep her safe. But what good would that do? Except make everything a hundred times harder.
Ahead, the alley stretches dark and empty. Each step lands louder than the last, echoing off stone as winter air wraps around me, crisp and sharp. I should be cold, but it doesn’t reach me. I’m warm—always am—Cal’s heat turning my breath to mist, curling white into the night.
I take another step and loosen the grip on my mind, shoulders relax, jaw softens, just slightly, just enough to breathe.
“I warned you.” Cal instantly curls in like smoke behind my eyes. “You’re playing with fire.”
I don’t answer, just exhale hard. What’s the point? He’s right.
God, I almost wish I’d never noticed her that day… One glance in the other direction, one more heartbeat of indifference—and maybe none of this, these feelings, would exist.
But she’s everywhere now. In my head. In the quiet between thoughts.
And she just looks at me like I’m the monster they say I am, and maybe she’s right. I built this version of myself to survive. Layered it on like armour. Worn it so long, it fused to the bone.
But when she’s near, I feel the cracks forming—light seeping through where I swore there’d be none. I used to think it was better not to feel. Easier to survive when nothing mattered. Then I noticed her—loud, stubborn, so alive—and suddenly everything hurt again.
It's for the best I keep my distance, let her think I’m the villain, because if she does come back to the Citadel…
If she found out the things I’ve done, what I am, what I will have to do, she’d run.
And maybe that’s the punishment I deserve: to carry her light through the darkness and never be able to touch it.
I take one last look back, but she’s already heading inside with Bren. The door shuts behind them, sealing the warmth in, locking me out.
I hope Merrin’s right—that those journals work. Because if they don’t...
If she can’t figure out what she is, what she’s meant to do—
We’re fucked.
Not just me.
All of us.
End of Book One.