Morning came slowly, like the world was reluctant to interrupt what had settled overnight.
I woke with the strange awareness of having been held without being touched.
The fire had burned down to embers, the air cool enough to sharpen every sensation. I lay still for a moment, listening—to the forest, to the breathing nearby, to the quiet hum of the bond that no longer ruled me but still existed like a memory written into muscle.
Rowan was asleep a few paces away, turned onto his side, one arm tucked beneath his head, expression unguarded. Silas stood watch as he always did, posture easy but alert, gaze moving in slow sweeps of the land. Alaric sat with his back against the fallen trunk, eyes closed but not asleep.
I felt him notice when I stirred.
He didn't open his eyes immediately.
That restraint mattered.
I sat up slowly, wrapping the cloak around myself again. My body felt… different. Not altered. Settled. Like something inside me had aligned just enough to stop fighting itself.
"You slept," Alaric said quietly.
"Yes," I replied.
His eyes opened then, calm and steady. "Good."
Not I'm glad.
Not I stayed awake.
Just good.
Rowan stirred, blinking awake, then squinting at the light filtering through the trees. "Wow. Nobody stabbed us in the night. Love that."
Silas's mouth curved faintly. "Low standards."
Rowan sat up with a groan, stretching. "Hey, survival builds character."
I smiled, warmth spreading through my chest.
As we broke camp, the intimacy of the night lingered—not awkward, not heavy. Just present. No one rushed to define it. No one pretended it hadn't happened.
That, I realized, was the difference.
We moved east again, the land sloping gently downward toward a line of trees that marked the edge of a shallow basin. The air felt charged—not with danger exactly, but with attention.
Silas slowed first.
"Stop," he murmured.
I felt it too.
The bond stirred—not sharp, not alarmed.
Aware.
Someone was near.
Rowan frowned. "We're getting popular."
Alaric didn't speak. His gaze lifted, scanning the treeline with quiet precision.
That was when I sensed it.
Not hostility.
Not threat.
Recognition.
"He's here," I said softly.
Rowan stiffened. "Who?"
I swallowed once. "Kael."
Silence fell.
Not shock.
Understanding.
Silas's posture shifted—subtle, protective.
Alaric glanced at me, searching my face. "Do you want to leave?"
The question grounded me instantly.
"No," I said.
He nodded once. "Then we stay."
Kael stepped out from between the trees like he'd been carved from shadow and regret.
He looked thinner. Sharper. Less certain.
Not weak.
But unmoored.
His gaze found me immediately—and faltered.
Not because I looked different.
But because I felt different.
The bond pulsed faintly between us—not painful, not yearning.
Distant.
Neutral.
That realization hit him like a physical blow.
"So," Kael said, voice rough. "This is where you ended up."
Rowan muttered, "Wow. Ten out of ten opener."
Silas didn't speak.
Alaric stayed where he was—not stepping forward, not retreating. Present without challenge.
Kael's gaze flicked to him—then away, jaw tightening.
"You're surrounded," Kael said to me. "Again."
I met his eyes calmly. "No. I'm accompanied."
The words landed harder than any insult.
Kael laughed once, sharp and humorless. "You always did like pretending words change reality."
"They do," I replied. "Just not for you."
The bond stirred—uncomfortable, strained.
Kael took a step closer, then stopped when he noticed Silas's stillness, Rowan's quiet attention, Alaric's unyielding calm.
"You think this is strength?" Kael demanded. "Hiding behind them?"
I didn't move.
I didn't raise my voice.
"I'm not hiding," I said. "You just no longer have access."
That was it.
That was the line.
Something broke across Kael's face—not loudly, not dramatically.
But irreversibly.
"You chose them," he said hoarsely.
"No," I replied. "I chose myself."
Rowan exhaled softly. "Damn."
Kael's gaze dropped—just for a moment—to the cloak around my shoulders.
Someone else's.
The bond reacted faintly—not jealousy.
Grief.
"You look… different," Kael said quietly.
"I am," I said.
He looked back up at me, eyes searching, desperate for something—anything—that resembled the version of me he'd believed he could dominate, dismiss, belittle.
"You don't need them," he said. "You were always enough on your own."
The words came too late.
"And yet," I said gently, "you treated me like I wasn't."
Silence stretched between us.
Kael swallowed. "I was wrong."
The admission felt heavy—but not satisfying.
"I know," I said.
He took another step forward, then stopped himself, hands curling at his sides.
"You let him touch you?" he asked suddenly.
The question was crude in its desperation.
Rowan went still.
Silas's eyes hardened.
Alaric did not move.
I answered anyway.
"I let myself choose closeness," I said. "You don't get details."
Kael flinched.
Not because of jealousy.
Because of finality.
The bond pulsed once—soft, resigned.
"You don't want me anymore," he said.
I studied him carefully.
"No," I said. "I don't want what you offered."
The difference mattered.
Kael laughed quietly, shaking his head. "You always did have a way of cutting deeper when you weren't trying."
Rowan shifted closer—not threatening, just present.
"This isn't healthy for you," Rowan said lightly. "Popping in like a ghost of bad decisions."
Kael ignored him.
"I didn't come to take you back," Kael said. "I came to see if I still mattered."
The honesty surprised me.
I considered him—not as a threat, not as a wound.
As a lesson.
"You matter," I said. "Just not to my future."
The bond hummed—agreement.
Kael closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, something had settled.
Acceptance.
Not peace.
But acknowledgment.
"I won't follow you," he said quietly. "I won't interfere."
Silas spoke then, voice low. "Good."
Kael's gaze flicked to him, then Rowan, then Alaric.
"You're different," Kael said to Alaric.
Alaric met his gaze calmly. "I don't assume ownership."
Kael huffed a short laugh. "Yeah. That tracks."
He looked back at me one last time.
"You were never weak," he said. "I just didn't know how to stand next to someone who wasn't afraid of me."
The words landed—not as apology.
As confession.
"I know," I said.
Kael stepped back, then turned, disappearing into the trees without another word.
The forest swallowed him whole.
When the silence returned, it felt… clean.
Rowan exhaled slowly. "Wow. That was… mature."
Silas nodded. "For him."
Alaric watched me closely. "How do you feel?"
I checked in with myself honestly.
"Lighter," I said. "Not because he left—but because I didn't shrink."
The bond pulsed softly.
Aligned.
We moved on soon after, the land opening before us like something unclaimed.
As we walked, Rowan drifted closer again, bumping my shoulder lightly. "You okay if I say something mildly inappropriate?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Define mildly."
He grinned. "The way you handled that? Extremely attractive."
I laughed softly.
Silas shook his head, but there was no disapproval in his gaze.
Alaric walked beside me, quiet as ever.
After a while, he spoke.
"You didn't look back."
"No," I said.
"Good," he replied.
We walked in companionable silence for a time, the intimacy from the night before evolving—not fading, not escalating.
Integrating.
As dusk approached again, I realized something important.
Kael hadn't lost me because of the men walking beside me.
He'd lost me because he never learned how to walk with me.
And what I was building now—
Slowly. Carefully. Intentionally—
Was something no one could take from me.
Not a bond.
Not a claim.
Not even desire.
Because it was rooted in choice.
And choice, once claimed, does not ask permission to exist.