Ciaran's POV
The moon had long since risen, silver light filtering through the high canopy of the glade and casting gentle lines across the floorboards of the cabin. Ciaran lay on his back, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting between them. Therrin was curled slightly toward him, their breaths in quiet rhythm.
She had let him stay. After everything. That alone was enough to root him to the mattress, unmoving, barely daring to breathe too deeply in case it startled her away.
At some point in the night, her hand had found his shirt. She hadn't even realized she'd done it—grasping the fabric between her fingers, holding on like something in the dark might try to take her. He hadn't moved.
But then came the trembling.
At first it was subtle—her breath catching, body tensing, a shift in the air. Ciaran's eyes opened immediately.
"Therrin…" he whispered, barely audible.
She didn't respond. Her face had twisted, brows drawn together, mouth slightly parted but no sound came. Her whole body was tight, coiled, like she was bracing for something she couldn't fight. Her hand clenched harder in his shirt, knuckles white.
Then the whimper—soft and pained, like a wounded animal.
Ciaran sat up gently, cupping her shoulder. "Hey. Hey, it's just me." His voice was low, steady, coaxing her back. "You're dreaming."
She jerked, not awake but sinking deeper. Her lips moved, words lost in a breathless gasp. His heart clenched at the sight of her like this—so strong when conscious, so guarded—but now? She looked shattered. Helpless.
"Therrin." He leaned close, brushing his thumb along her temple. "You're safe. You're not there anymore."
A small cry escaped her lips—short, sharp, then cut off. Her back arched slightly, and she whimpered again, breath hitching like she was trying not to scream.
That broke something in him.
Without thinking, he gathered her gently into his arms, holding her close but not tight. Her body was cold—damp with sweat. She trembled against him, the dream not letting go.
"Come back," he murmured against her hair. "Come back to me."
And slowly… she did.
She jerked awake with a small gasp, chest heaving, wide-eyed and disoriented. For a moment, she didn't speak. Her gaze was wild, distant. He didn't let go.
"You're here," he said softly. "You're with me."
Her breathing slowed. Her hand still gripped his shirt. She looked down, noticed it, and slowly let go, fingers flexing like they didn't know what to do next.
"Ciaran…" Her voice was hoarse.
"Yeah," he breathed. "I'm here."
There was a long pause between them—silence except for the hush of wind outside. Then Therrin leaned back just enough to sit upright, knees drawn up, arms around herself. She looked like she wanted to say something but couldn't.
He sat up beside her, not touching her this time.
"Was it a nightmare?" he asked gently.
A pause. Then a small nod.
"It didn't feel like a dream," she said quietly. "It felt like… memory."
He didn't speak. He waited. She needed silence more than questions.
"I was… in a garden," she whispered. "The petals were white. There were so many of them. It was quiet. Peaceful. Beautiful even."
Ciaran watched her, studying the way her hands clenched over her arms, the shiver in her breath.
"And then… she came."
"Who?"
"I don't know." Her voice trembled. "She didn't have a face. I couldn't see it. It was like my mind wouldn't let me."
He swallowed, nodded slowly.
"She felt familiar. Not close. Not family. Not even a friend. Just… someone who was supposed to follow orders."
Therrin's fingers moved to her chest unconsciously—just above her heart.
"She stabbed me," she said, almost numb. "Right here. And then my throat. I didn't scream. I didn't fight. I just… fell."
Her eyes glistened but didn't spill.
"The petals caught me. All those white petals soaked in red. That's what I remember most."
Ciaran didn't speak for a long time. He just sat beside her, letting the weight of her words settle into the quiet space between them.
"And you don't know who she was?" he asked gently.
Therrin shook her head. "No. But I know I trusted her… and she turned on me."
That, more than anything, seemed to rattle her. Not the pain. Not the blood. But the betrayal. The silence of it.
"No words," she whispered. "No anger. No warning. Just the blade."
Ciaran slowly reached for her hand, giving her the time to pull away if she wanted to. She didn't.
Their fingers laced. He could feel the tremor in her bones.
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
She didn't look at him. "Why?"
"Because I know what it's like to trust someone who was never worthy of it."
That earned him a flicker of a glance.
"Did you love her?" she asked.
"No," he said at once. "She was beneath me in the courts. A soldier with ambition. I gave her a chance. She took it and used it to gain favor with someone else."
"Did she try to kill you?"
He paused. "No. But she would have, if it meant power."
They sat in silence again. The storm inside her wasn't done yet.
"I don't know why this is coming back now," Therrin murmured. "Why I'm remembering this."
"Maybe it's time," Ciaran said. "Maybe your soul is trying to remind you of something important. Not the pain. But the truth."
She looked at him then—really looked. And the wall she always held up, that invisible fortress she never let crumble, flickered like thin glass.
"I don't want to remember what it felt like to die," she whispered.
"You don't have to," he said. "Not alone."
He moved closer, careful, reverent. She didn't flinch.
Her head leaned softly against his shoulder. Her body still trembled slightly, but she let herself rest there—like she'd decided he was safe enough.
"I hate how weak it makes me feel," she admitted after a long pause.
"You're not weak." His voice was firm now. "You're remembering something stolen from you. That doesn't make you weak. That makes you surviving."
She didn't reply. But she didn't move away either.
They sat like that for what could've been minutes or hours. Time bent when silence was sacred.
Eventually, she pulled the blanket up over them both again and lay back down. He followed, curling beside her, their hands still joined between them.
"You can sleep," he murmured. "I'll be here."
"You're not going to run off to another trial?"
He smiled softly. "Not tonight. They can wait."
A slow exhale left her lungs. "Good."
She turned slightly into him, her forehead brushing his collarbone.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"For what?"
"For not asking for more than I can give."
His hand gently rubbed small circles across her back. "You've already given more than you know."