Kion’s POV

  Tiran’s house, Brandholt City

  Knell turned toward the kitchen, setting the paper bag on the counter before beginning to unpack it.

  The sound of rustling paper and clinking containers faded with her. Small, domestic noises that didn’t matter.

  Kion didn’t follow her. He pivoted mid-air, wings pushing against the unfamiliar air of the living room as he sought the tether’s pull.

  Jura came with him automatically, one hand brushing Kion’s arm in case he drifted too far off balance.

  Before they even reached the stairs, Kion stopped abruptly.

  Jura crashed into his back with a muffled oof, complaining about the sudden halt.

  Kion ignored him. He checked his spell, touching it lightly with a sluggish sweep of mana.

  Still intact. Still steady. Good.

  Only then did he drift upward again, Jura sighing as he followed.

  The moment they passed the warded threshold of the second floor, Jura shivered again. His wings frilled in discomfort, the wards brushing against his senses like cold mist.

  The complaints stopped after that.

  They halted in front of a door not far from the stairs.

  Kion’s heartbeat pounded so loudly it felt like it shook the air around him.

  It drowned out the residual lethargy of the painkiller spell. Though the heaviness still clung to his limbs and skull, thick as soaked wool.

  He rose toward the vent above the door, wings dragging slightly as if gravity had doubled around him.

  Just as he reached for it, Jura grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

  Kion blinked at him, dazed. “Better not to risk the vents, yes. But there’s no other way to reach inside without alarming her right n—”

  Jura cut him off with a quick shake of his head. “No. I’m not commenting on your contradicting choice of route.”

  Kion fully turned toward him.

  Jura’s expression was unusually serious. Focused, almost sharp.

  “I have a lot of questions,” Jura said, grip tightening on Kion’s arm, “and I know they can all wait. Except this one.”

  Kion’s chest tightened. “What is it? You’re... making me scared.”

  Jura held his gaze for several breaths, searching for the right angle.

  Then he asked, quietly, “Are you sure you want me to follow you into that room?”

  The question hit him like a pebble dropped into still water.

  Kion’s mouth twitched. “I... don’t know if I’ll be myself if I see her. So yes. I’d rather have you around.”

  “I know you’re hiding something,” Jura said gently. “I respect that. I’m not here to pry. But I might be able to guess it from the way you two react. Are you really sure you want me witnessing that?”

  Something clicked in Kion’s fogged mind. Slowly, like a puzzle piece sliding into place through molasses.

  “Ah. That’s what you’re worried about.” He scratched awkwardly at his nape. “Seraithe’s people sure are kind and understanding.”

  Jura winced, looking faintly uncomfortable. “You’re part of us now. I hope you remember.”

  Kion’s eyes widened. Guilt seeped through the haze.

  He looked away. “Sorry. It’s been a while since I lived with other fairfolk. It still doesn’t feel... real.”

  “I’m aware,” Jura said, pulling him briefly into a steady, grounding hug.

  A tap to the back, reassuring. “We’re aware. That’s why we gave you space. But you don’t have to handle things alone every time.”

  Something inside Kion tightened. Something separate from the tether, yet tangled with it.

  When Jura stepped back, his tone was gentle but firm. “So. Are you sure you want me inside?”

  “Yes.” Kion swiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “You might’ve already guessed it anyway. It’s a solo tether.”

  “Thanks for trusting me.” Jura nodded slowly. “Anything else I should know now?”

  Kion’s gaze fell to the floorboards. “She just moved here two days ago. And... she actually told me not to follow.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He forced himself to look into Jura’s eyes. Bracing for judgment, for disappointment.

  He found none.

  Jura’s fingers twitched as he ran the numbers in his mind. His eyes flicked up and to the right, unfocused.

  Counting, sorting. Then everything clicked. “I see. So that’s why.”

  “I’m not planning to talk to her,” Kion said quickly. “I just want to see her. Close. I don’t want her to know I followed... after she told me not to.”

  Jura set a hand on his hip. “That’s going to take enormous willpower.”

  “I know. That’s why I brought you.” Kion’s fingers fidgeted with his sleeve. “I don’t trust myself to hold back. She’s already so skittish. I don’t want to scare her more.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Jura asked.

  “Stun me if the tether consumes me and I lose myself,” Kion whispered. “Don’t let me approach her if I’m not lucid.”

  “Alright. I can do that. But I can’t cross the wards without being detected, so if that happens, I’ll have to drag you out and wait until you’re sane enough to return.”

  “Good enough.”

  Jura nodded. “Then pretend I’m not here. Go on.”

  A weak laugh escaped Kion. “I’m glad I have you with me, Jura.”

  “You’re welcome,” Jura grinned.

  They reached the vent above the door. Kion ran a careful check around the border, his hands slightly shaky, the sedation making his movements a fraction slower than he judged them to be.

  No extra wards. No traps. Good.

  They slipped into the room.

  Darkness swallowed them immediately.

  Almost midday, but the curtains were drawn tight. Only the thinnest sliver of light bled in from between the fabric.

  Kion startled at the sudden absence of brightness, but not with surprise. She always shut out the light when she was unstable.

  Writ sat curled beneath the window, folded into herself. Knees to chest. Arms wrapped tightly over her head.

  A small, fragile silhouette.

  Kion drifted closer, but his wings faltered mid-hover. The numbing fog made them sluggish, unresponsive, so he let his feet drop softly to the floorboards a step away from her.

  Then the tether hit him.

  A surge, raw and twisting, flooding him in unrelenting waves.

  Even through Leta’s muting spell, he felt every spike of her self-blame. Every knot of her misery. Every corner she pressed herself into.

  I’m here.

  The words clawed up his throat.

  He swallowed them.

  His breath hitched. His arm lifted without his permission.

  He caught it, curled his fingers into a fist, and pressed it against his palm. Lowering it carefully. Reminding himself.

  She didn’t want him to follow.

  She didn’t want attention.

  She didn’t want touch.

  If she noticed him, this would be over.

  The pain in his chest pulsed again. Persistent. Sharper.

  The sedation veil softened it, but couldn’t hide it.

  A tear escaped.

  He tightened his barrier, sealing off any sound.

  His wings stilled. His knees folded underneath him, dropping him to the floor so he wouldn't drift any closer.

  I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry.

  I don’t mind if you don’t want to see me again.

  I’ll accept it. It’s my fault. I know.

  Punish me however you want.

  Forget me. It’s fine.

  Just... please don’t punish yourself.

  Not like this.

  Eat.

  Move.

  Live.

  Don’t do this.

  Please. I beg you.

  He didn’t know anymore which words stayed contained and which ones slipped into his breath.

  His head felt stuffed with cotton, the edges of his consciousness blurred from sedation.

  His tears kept coming. He hugged his own arms to stop them from reaching for her.

  He trembled. Every glimpse of her, small and hunched and shaking, sent another shudder through him.

  A sob nearly ripped out of him.

  He bit down hard, jaw clenched. Only thin, sharp breaths leaked into the barrier.

  Then, she moved.

  A tilt of her head.

  Everything inside Kion froze. Even the tether quieted.

  Jura stepped closer, standing right behind him now.

  In the darkness, Kion still noticed the dryness of her lips, the hollow beneath her eyes, the faint tremor in her arms.

  Had she slept at all?

  Her gaze lifted. Not at him, but to the vent above the door.

  Kion didn’t breathe.

  Then she looked at the other vent above the window.

  He inched forward on instinct, but Jura’s hand pressed down on his shoulder. Firm, a silent warning.

  Writ’s head lowered again, but turned slightly to the left this time.

  Kion followed her gaze.

  Under the desk.

  He rose despite his unsteady knees and walked toward it. Jura shadowed him.

  When he reached the spot, his legs gave out again, sinking to the ground.

  The coin pouch.

  The one he gave her before they parted in Zeirath.

  The one she always kept in her pocket. The one she tapped when she fidgeted.

  Left on the floor.

  His breath cracked.

  He stood abruptly, turning—

  —and collided with Jura instead of her.

  Jura didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

  His eyes glistened, full of pity but no accusation.

  Kion lunged into him. Arms wrapping around Jura’s shoulders, burying his face there instead of where he desperately wanted to go.

  Holding onto Jura because he couldn’t trust himself near her. Because he wouldn’t cross another line she had drawn.

  Jura hesitated only a moment before patting his back. Light taps that steadied into rhythm.

  “Breathe,” Jura whispered. “Let it all out.”

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Kion’s tears fell harder.

  His fingers curled into Jura’s shirt. His chin rested against Jura’s shoulder, breath hitching.

  “It’s okay. Breathe.”

  Kion tried. He really did.

  But his lungs stuttered, overwhelmed by sobs.

  “I’ve got you,” Jura murmured.

  Writ blinked slowly at the pouch.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Then her gaze lowered, her eyes closing.

  It felt unbearable, like she was shutting him out.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Jura didn’t add any more words. He just kept the steady rhythm on Kion’s back.

  Slow. Gentle. Grounding him, holding him together while the tether tried to rip him apart from the inside.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  It helped, he told himself weakly.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  The thought kept flooding back.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  He hurt her.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  It was his fault.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  He deserved this.