Morning came slowly, reluctantly, as though the valley itself had not yet decided whether it wanted to wake.
Pale light filtered through the thinning fog, catching on damp stone and tangled roots. What had once pressed down on the air like a held breath now loosened, drifting away in soft ribbons that slid between trees and sank into the hollows of the land. Cold still lingered, clinging to skin and cloth, but it no longer felt suffocating. It felt watchful. Waiting.
Leira rose first.
She moved quietly, mindful of the uneven stone beneath her boots, careful not to disturb the small pocket of warmth they had created overnight. Ash crumbled under her fingers as she stirred the remains of the fire, coaxing a final breath of heat from the embers. The smell of smoke mixed with damp earth and old leaves, grounding her.
Nyra was already awake.
The woman sat with her back against a fallen stone, adjusting the straps of her pack with slow, deliberate movements. Her face was drawn tight, jaw set, as though every motion cost her something. When she shifted her injured leg, the slightest hitch of breath betrayed the pain she refused to voice.
Leira crossed the space between them and knelt without asking.
Nyra watched her hands with guarded eyes but did not pull away.
"This should hold," Leira said as she tightened the final wrap around the woman's calf. Her fingers worked with practiced efficiency, smoothing the fabric, checking circulation, adjusting pressure. "Change it when you can. If it swells, stop walking."
Nyra gave a short huff. "You sound like someone who's patched up more fools than she should have."
Leira smiled faintly. "Occupational hazard."
A quiet moment passed as Leira secured the knot and leaned back on her heels. Nyra tested her weight carefully, then nodded once, satisfied.
"You didn't have to help me," Nyra said.
Leira rose, brushing dirt from her palms. "We didn't have to ignore you either."
Nyra studied her for a long second, then inclined her head. "Be careful."
Her gaze shifted, landing on Cassian.
He stood a few steps away, arms folded, posture neutral. Too neutral. His presence felt sharpened, contained, like something held under tension. His eyes were fixed on the treeline, scanning shadows that no longer seemed to move.
"You definitely didn't have to help me," Nyra repeated, softer now.
Cassian finally looked at her. "Trust me, I know."
Nyra's lips pressed into a thin line. "You two should avoid the low road past the birch ridge. It bends wrong. Things get lost there."
Cassian met her gaze steadily. "We know that too."
That earned a small nod from her.
She turned east, adjusting her pack, careful with her footing as she moved away. Leira watched until the woman's figure blurred into the pale light and disappeared between the trees.
Only then did Leira exhale.
The sound left her slower than she expected.
They packed in silence, movements careful and restrained, as if any sudden noise might draw something back to them. When they finally started down the path, the ground sloped gently upward, stones drying beneath the growing warmth of the sun.
Cassian walked ahead.
Not far. Just enough.
Leira noticed immediately.
The space between them felt deliberate. Not defensive, but controlled, as though he were measuring every step, every breath. His shoulders remained squared, his pace even. He did not look back.
The silence stretched.
"You know," Leira said at last, her voice light but edged with observation, "this is usually the part where you say something sarcastic. Or irritating. Or both."
No response.
She adjusted the strap of her pack, the leather creaking softly. "You've been acting off for a while now."
Cassian's pace did not change.
"You're not your usual self," she continued. "You haven't made a single cutting remark since yesterday, and frankly, it's unsettling."
Still nothing.
Leira sighed through her nose. "I didn't want to bring it up because I didn't want to push. But I'm honestly getting nervous so I'm pushing now."
Cassian slowed.
Not stopped. Just enough to acknowledge her presence without turning fully.
"When you remembered," he said quietly, "how did it feel?"
Leira blinked, caught off guard by the shift.
"That's your response?" she asked.
"It's my question."
"When I remembered what?"
"When you remembered me…"
She studied him, really studied him, the tension etched into his posture, the way his hands flexed slightly at his sides as though bracing against an unseen current.
"It hurt," she said finally. "Not all at once. It came in pieces. Like reopening a wound you'd convinced yourself had scarred over."
Cassian nodded once, as if he had expected nothing less.
"I was angry," she added. "Confused. Some of it didn't make sense until it did, and then it was worse." She swallowed. "There were moments I couldn't breathe."
Cassian's jaw tightened. The sound of his breath changed, sharper, more controlled.
"And you didn't talk to anyone about this… Kael maybe?" he said.
"No," she agreed. "I didn't. It was hard enough for me to remember, but talking to Kael about you wasn't something he was very open too. Whether you know it or not… you didn't hurt just me."
They reached a bend in the path where the trees thinned, sunlight spilling through bare branches and warming the damp ground. Cassian stopped there.
He turned to face her fully.
"Do you remember everything?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No, but I have access to it. That's the best way I can explain it." She tapped her temple lightly. "It's all there. I just don't always have it in front of me."
"Selective recall," he murmured.
"Protective recall," she corrected. "I believe my mind decides what I can handle."
His gaze sharpened, as though that distinction mattered deeply.
"From what you do remember," he said carefully, "were you afraid of me… like before I would…?"
The question settled heavily between them.
Leira did not answer immediately.
The forest around them was quiet, birdsong distant, leaves shifting softly in the breeze.
"What? Kill me?" she said at last. "Sometimes. In the moment leading up to it, yes. There were seconds where I was terrified. But I think it was more of dying than of you."
Cassian's breath stuttered, barely audible.
"But most of the time?" she continued. "No."
He looked up sharply.
"I accepted it," she said simply. "Not because I wanted to. But because it was what was happening. And once you accept something, fear doesn't last."
Something in his expression fractured, subtle but unmistakable.
"I need you to answer something else," Cassian said. His voice remained steady, but his hands curled into fists.
She nodded. "Ask."
"If the man I was before," he said slowly, "the man that did all these horrible things to you. came to you now. Knowing what you know. If he told you he was struggling with things he didn't fully understand. That there were parts of him he was afraid of."
He held her gaze. "What would you say to him?"
Leira did not hesitate.
"I'd ask him why he thought he had to carry it alone."
Cassian's breath caught.
"I'd tell him," she went on, "that being dangerous doesn't make him evil. That being afraid of himself means he still cares."
She stepped a little closer, her voice dropping. "And I'd tell him that waiting until he loses control isn't the same as protecting the people he loves."
Cassian closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, something raw and unguarded looked back at her.
"And if he told you," he said, "that some of those demons were beginning to claw at his mind again?"
Leira tilted her head. "Then I'd tell him that pretending they don't exist won't make them disappear."
The wind stirred, cool and sharp, threading through the trees.
Cassian turned away, taking a step down the path.
"You're very calm about this," he said.
"I'm being honest," she replied. "There's a difference."
He nodded once.
They resumed walking, the distance between them smaller now. Not gone. But changed.
"There are things I haven't told you," Cassian said softly.
"I know."
"Things I don't know how to explain."
"I know that too."
He stopped one last time, looking at her with something close to apology in his eyes.
"If I lose myself again," he said, "you might not see it coming…"
Leira stepped beside him, gaze steady. "Then you'd better let me walk close enough to notice."
"If you do notice… can you do me a favor?"
"What?"
"Would you please end it? I don't know what you did to me at the Citadel…" The name tasted like iron when he said it. His fingers flexed once, as if remembering a sensation his mind refused to hold. "But for a brief moment, they were all gone, I felt at peace, I was free… maybe if you did more of that, all of this would finally end."
"I don't know if I can promise you that," she said. "But what I can promise you is that if I notice that it is starting again, I will do everything I can to destroy the Keepers, and save you in the process… and if saving you means ending you, I'm willing to do that too."
For a moment, he looked like he might say more.
He didn't.
They continued on, the path narrowing ahead, light dimming once again as the trees closed in.
Deep within Cassian, something listened.
Patient. Certain.
And now that Leira was close again, it waited for the moment when closeness would finally become permission.