"A mistake," he says, not flinching from my blade. "The worst I've made since Zevan died."
And what's awful is I want to believe him. I want to lower my weapon, to let him in. I have missed him as much as Erisen has, even if I don't want to.
My son's attachment to this demon tears at me in ways I can't articulate. For six years, we've been each other's entire world. Then Domno walked in with his quiet strength and careful attention, and Erisen blossomed like a flower turning toward sunlight.
"You made my son love you," I accuse, voice breaking on the words. "You made me—" I can't finish. Won't give him that truth. Not now.
His jaw tightens. "I never meant for any of this."
"That doesn't make it better." The knife wavers, my conviction weakening despite myself. "You were being paid to hunt us. While you sat at our table. While you touched me."
Heat crawls up my neck at the memory of his hands on my skin, how I'd surrendered to his touch so easily after years of never letting anyone close. What a fool I'd been to think I was special—that I was anything more than a bounty to collect.
"Look at me, Esalyn." His voice drops lower. "Really look."
I force myself to meet his gaze, and what I see there makes my breath catch. There's no calculation in those golden eyes, no hunter assessing his prey. Only raw, unshielded pain—and something dangerously close to devotion.
Slowly, I lower the knife. Not because I trust him, but because killing him won't undo what's already been done.
"You don't get to fix this with confessions," I say, stepping back to put distance between us, my spine still rigid with hurt. "Protection means nothing if it's built on secrets."
He reaches for me, then stops himself, hand hovering in the space between us. "I know."
"No, you don't." My fingers curl into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms. "You don't know what it's like to have theground ripped out from under you again and again. To never know who you can trust." My voice shakes, but I refuse to break. Not again. Not for him. "I've spent six years building walls to keep Erisen safe, and you—you just walked through them like they were nothing."
His face remains impassive, but I see how my words land in the tightening of his shoulders, the subtle clench of his jaw.
"I need space," I continue, forcing each word past the lump in my throat. "I need the chase to end."
The temple around us creaks, ancient stone settling as the wind howls outside. The single candle I lit flickers, throwing his face into sharp relief—the proud curve of his horns, the planes of his face that I've memorized without meaning to.
"Don't track me again," I tell him, wrapping my arms around myself. "I have to figure out what's left of my own strength without your shadow following my every step."
Something flickers across his expression—pain, resignation, respect. He steps back, his massive frame somehow smaller in the dim light.
"Where will you go?" he asks, voice rough.
I glance at Erisen, still clutched in the arms of sleep, unaware that his world has shifted again. My beautiful boy who deserves so much more than this life of running.
"That's not yours to know anymore," I whisper, the finality of it like a stone settling in my chest.
He wavers, his eyes flicking over me. I can tell he doesn't want to force me but he doesn't want to let go either. Instead he just says, "I will always want to protect you, Esalyn. Both of you. I hope you will eventually see that."
I don't move until Domno's shadow disappears completely from the temple as he slips back out the window. The sound of his footfalls outside fades into silence, and I'm left standingwith a knife in one hand and the tatters of whatever we'd been building in the other.
He didn't argue. Didn't try to convince me. Just accepted my words with that single, sharp nod and walked away.
It's what I asked for. What I demanded.
So why does it feel like someone has hollowed out my chest with a dull blade?
The candle flickers as a draft sweeps through the abandoned temple, sending shadows dancing across cracked stone walls. I sink to the ground, still tucked out of view, so he doesn't hear me. My legs suddenly feel too weak to hold me.
"I did the right thing," I whisper to myself, but it doesn't feel right. "You'll understand someday."
But the words ring hollow in the temple's vastness. The silence that falls afterward is too complete, too final—a punishment for daring to want something beyond survival.
I've been alone with Erisen since the night we fled Vorrak's estate. Years of keeping my head down, of teaching my son to be quiet, to be invisible, to trust no one but me. I'd built our life on caution and fear, and it had kept us alive.
