ARIN
The blade fell.
And the world cracked open inside her chest—not her ribs, not her lungs, but something deeper, something that lived in the space between heartbeats where she kept every lie she'd ever told herself about not caring, about not loving, about surviving without anyone.
"STOP!"
The word ripped out of her throat raw, animal, ugly. Not a word. A sound. The kind of sound that came from the place in your gut where language hadn't been invented yet.
Dhaelon's hands froze.
The sword hung in the air—mid-arc, trembling, the firelight still running down the steel like liquid gold. He held it there. Held it the way a cat holds a mouse between its teeth. Not because he couldn't finish. Because he wanted to see what she'd do.
He's watching me. He's always watching me.
"Wait." Her voice shook. She hated it. Hated every tremor, every crack, every splinter in the word that told Dhaelon exactly how much power he had over her in this moment. "Wait, please—just—wait."
