Revik's fist slammed into my ribs; I rolled with it and drove a counter into his shoulder. He grunted, came back swinging. Good. He needed this.
We traded hit for hit until breath burned and sweat stung our eyes—until our knuckles ached and the world narrowed to the clean language of impact. It was never just a fight with us. This was how we spoke when words failed.
At last we staggered apart, chests heaving.
Revik wiped blood from his lip and glared. "You gonna ask why I'm pissed, or are we just beating each other stupid?"
I stretched my shoulder, exhaled. "You gonna say it, or pretend I don't already know?"
He snorted. "You're a lot of things, Rai, but you're not stupid."
"Yeah." I nodded. "I know."
"I'm sorry," I said, voice rougher than I meant. "I should've told you about the darkness. I wasn't certain it was real—Muir was my source." I lifted a brow.
Revik rolled his eyes. "And Muir's never right?"
"I didn't want to wind everyone up," I said. "So I dug quietly. And I still didn't fully believe it… not until I saw it."
He shook his head, anger thinning into hurt. "Whether you believed it or not, you should've told me. I'm your best damn friend. I would've helped."
I looked at him—past the glare to the worry underneath. "Okay."
He blinked. "Okay?"
"Yeah." I huffed a laugh. "You're right. I should've let you in."
"You're agreeing with me? Just like that?"
"Don't get used to it."
He snorted, tension bleeding from his shoulders. "Next time, tell me."
"Next time," I said. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn't sure I could afford to do this alone.
We dropped into the snow, shoulders touching, letting the cold sink through bruises. Wind threaded the trees; clouds stacked heavy above. I caught myself smiling—an unguarded thing I barely recognized.
Revik noticed. "Huh. That's new."
"What is?"
"You. Smiling like that. Not the smug one—the other one." He elbowed me. "Unsettling."
"Shut up." I was still smiling.
He went quiet, then, as only Revik can, asked, "So… what happened with Lyra last night? And before you answer—did you take advantage while she was drunk?"
Heat flared. "Are you joking?"
"Relax," he said, palms up. "I know you. But you're also hopelessly into her—painfully obvious, by the way."
I scowled. "You're awfully protective of Lyra."
He exhaled. "Yeah. We clicked. She's… family." A beat. "Like you."
Something warm settled in my chest.
He squinted. "Now stop dodging."
I scrubbed a hand through my hair. "Fine. Short version." I told him—how Lyra saw everything in me I'd buried, called me more than the monster, said she cared, that I wasn't my darkness. And how, for the first time in years, I wanted to believe her.
Revik leaned back, smug. "She's under your skin."
"You say that like it's bad."
"Not bad. Surprising. She must be something if you're lowering the drawbridge."
"She is," I said before I could second-guess it. "At first she was a weapon. An end to a war. Then we bled together, laughed together… Now she's someone I need. It feels… deeper than love. Like our souls were meant to find each other."
Revik whistled. "You've got it bad, Your Highness."
"You have no idea."
I clapped his shoulder—he winced, muttering under his breath.
"Come on," I said with a smirk. "Let's get back before they start thinking we killed each other."
Revik snorted. "Please. Those two are probably hiding somewhere thinking they're invisible."
A low chuckle escaped me. "They've never been good at subtlety."
"Not even a little," he agreed, shaking his head as we started walking.
We crunched back to the tavern, new bruises and easier hearts. Inside, Lyra and Muir sat very still—the exact stillness of people who have definitely not been spying. Muir grinned at Revik. "Well, handsome? Get the rage out?"
For once, Revik faltered—opened his mouth, shut it again, glared. I let him dangle.
Lyra's attention found me. Her gaze snagged on the bruise along my jaw; her fingers rose, feather-soft against the sore skin. "Did you two have to fight it out?"
I caught her hand and leaned into the touch. "It's how we settle things. I'm fine."
She didn't look convinced. I brushed a quick kiss to her cheek. She went still, breath hitching. Revik and Muir were absolutely watching.
I dipped to her ear. "I'm going to clean up. Then you and I—out. Just us."
Her eyes widened. "Oh."
Yeah. That got her attention.
I washed off the blood and snow and came back to find her mid-interrogation with the other two. "You ready?" I asked.
She glanced between them like deciding whether to leave children unattended. Muir waggled his brows. "Don't worry about us, Primal. I'll take excellent care of Revik—just like last night."
Revik stiffened. "Shut up."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "I will find out what happened."
Muir's grin widened. Revik groaned.
I laced my fingers with hers. "Come on, nosy. We've got plans."
We slipped into the market's hum. Lyra lingered at stalls, fingertips skating over fabrics, lifting bracelets to the light, breathing in spices. She moved like she had time—like the world would wait. I watched her and felt something settle, quiet and sure.
"It's nice," she said, turning a small carved figurine in her hands. "To walk through a market and actually look. Not just hunt for food or a place to hide."
"So I should keep a closer eye on my coin purse?"
She bumped my arm. "Please. You wouldn't even notice if I did."
"Oh? Meaning you think you could?"
"Meaning you're predictable," she shot back, flashing a grin as she darted ahead.
After a few steps she spun, that same grin bright and dangerous, my coin purse dangling from her fingers. "See? Predictable."
I couldn't help the smile tugging at my lips. "Cheeky little thief."
And then something cold brushed my cheek.
Snow.
I barely registered it—until Lyra froze.
She caught a flake in her palm, watching it melt, then tipped her face to the sky as more drifted down. Snow dusted her lashes, her nose, the curve of her smile.
She'd never seen it before.
"What do you think?" I asked, softer than I meant to.
She didn't answer at once. She closed her eyes and let the snow land. When she spoke, it was a breath. "It's beautiful."
So was she.
I stood there in the falling quiet with the war, the relics, the darkness all beyond the market's edge—and let myself want. Just for a heartbeat. Just her, with snow in her hair and wonder in her eyes.
And for once, wanting didn't feel like a sin.