RICI
pen and stepped into the room. The air around him smelled metallic - anger made human. I patted the mattress twice, a small
shoulders hunched like a man bent under weather
y," he muttered. "He struck
ed - the hearth's hum, the distant clink of cutlery. "You sold my si
against the wall with such force that the breath left me like something taken and dropped. For a momen
whispering. Everything I'd built - compromises and
at as law. "You're here to support
taps swallowed into the silence. Then, mercifully, he let go
embling. I felt hollow, as if the center of me - my taste for power, my appetite for control -
t would make me important would s
owns into trunks, slid letters into pockets, tucked combs into folds of silk. Each fold wa
packing I might finish being the person who had stayed silent while my siste
as on h
moment I thought it a trick - a new manipulation - but his head bowed, not s
gan, but he cut in,
s securing the pack. I thought-God, Tricia, I thought I could buy safety. Besides, you saw what she did at the party. Who knows what else she's c
d up, fingers trembling, and touched the place his palm had burne
all shake of his shoulders, the way light made his eyes look younger
I said at last, voice small and raw.
a coward, thinking I could do what was necessary in the dark while still calling mys
cut him open. He rose awkwardly, and for a moment
et. Outside, wind kept time with the trees. "Why?" I asked because I needed the w
use. I thought I was protecting the pack. I was wrong
ade to belong. I thought of the way men like Blake wear duty like armor while the people inside
said. "You were supposed to be bette
n't argue duty into oblivion. "Tell m
your rival without starting a war that will c
e reached f
ves bound in ways that refused to be neatly cleaved apart. He lifted me and drew me c
forehead. "I will fix this," he promised. "Words are not enou
it carry me. His confession softened something inside the rigid shell I'
k of prayer. I forgave, but not fully. Doubt sett
ty braided with threat. I knew, with the stubborn certainty of someone who had loved and
of choosing. For now we were bound by vows and mistakes; later the truth would have a voice. Until then, we would learn, or unlearn, ourselves.
unaware the news I'd receive

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