"Why can't you tell me?" Theron asked.
The question came out quieter than he intended, roughened by something he did not want to name. Frustration. Hurt. A strange, restless need that had been building ever since she began slipping just out of his reach.
He should have been angry. After everything he had done for her, after everything he had given, was it too much to ask for a simple answer?
But the moment his gaze lifted to her face, to those eyes that never quite knew how to hide what they felt… the anger faltered.
"Don't they say," Aveline murmured, avoiding his gaze, "that prayers won't be granted if you tell someone else?"
Her voice was soft, almost careful, as if she were guarding something fragile.
She was.
Theron exhaled slowly, leaning back just a fraction. "Then don't tell me."
The words were calm. Too calm. But beneath them, something tightened.
