CHAPTER 13

N Y X A R A

Nothing happens. The wolves stay where they are, half-shifted bodies angled outward, blocking every direction that matters. No one advances or relaxes. The clearing feels locked in place, like someone pressed a hand down on it.
I don’t move either. I track breath and distance out of habit. Left, two wolves. Right, three. Behind me, the tree at my back. In front of me, the stranger. The stillness doesn’t feel like confusion. It feels ordered. Waiting.
That’s what sets my teeth on edge. If this were a mistake, it would already be loud. He stands just inside the treeline, where the shadows stay thickest. Not because the light doesn’t reach him, but because it doesn’t seem to stick. Tall. Lean. Wrapped in dark cloth that blends too well with bark and night.
His eyes catch when he looks up. Not bright like the wolves’. Something flatter. Older, maybe. I can’t place it, which bothers me more than if I could. The wolves don’t acknowledge him directly. A few lower their heads. One shifts its weight back, like it’s been reminded of something it forgot. No one challenges him. Whatever rules I’ve been watching don’t apply anymore. I do what I always do. I assess.
Distance first. Then hands. Then throat. If he moved, I could close the space in three steps. Maybe four. The angle is wrong, though. He hasn’t positioned himself to block or threaten. He’s not cutting off escape.
That’s the problem. There’s no clear trigger. No opening that feels like a decision instead of a mistake. He isn’t pressing. He isn’t retreating. He’s just there, watching, like time works differently for him. I don’t like targets that don’t need to act. He speaks once.
“They lied to you.”
That’s all. No accusation or even explanation. Just a statement, delivered the way you’d note the weather turning. I don’t answer right away.
“About what?” I say finally. His mouth tilts, just slightly.
“You know that’s not the question you were trained to ask.” My jaw tightens. The words come out before I can stop them.
“Questioning origin compromises mission clarity.” I’ve said it a hundred times. Heard it more. He studies me for a moment.
“And yet,” he says, “You’re questioning it anyway.”
I don’t respond. The phrase feels thinner spoken aloud. Like something repeated too often without ever being tested. He doesn’t wait for a response.
“You were taught what to see,” he says. “And what not to.”
My jaw tightens. That kind of phrasing is deliberate. It skirts the edge of interrogation without crossing it. He knows exactly where that line is.
“Your silence wasn’t an oversight,” he continues. “That was the point.”
I feel cold settle behind my ribs. Too many gaps in my training explained as efficiency. Too many questions redirected, punished, buried.
“Why tell me?” I ask. His gaze sharpens, just slightly.
“Because you’re still alive.”
That’s it. No offer of help. No promise of safety. Just confirmation that whatever I am to them, disposable was never one of the options. I think about pushing. About asking the obvious questions. Who lied. Why? What he wants from me now. The impulse is sharp and familiar. Interrogate. Pin down variables. Reduce uncertainty.
Then another reflex cuts in, older and heavier. Interrogation leads to leverage. Leverage leads to obligation. Obligation leads to control. The Guild drilled that sequence into us until it lived in the bone. Information was never neutral. It always belonged to someone.
I don’t know what this man wants, but I know one thing clearly. If I accept answers from him, I won’t be able to pretend I didn’t hear them. And whatever waits back with the Guild will be worse if I return carrying the wrong kind of truth.
So I stay quiet. I let the moment pass. He watches me like he expected that choice. He steps back first. Just a single step into the shadow where the trees crowd close together. For a second, I think I’ve misjudged the light again. Then he isn’t there.
The forest exhales slowly, like it had been braced for something that didn’t happen. The wolves don’t follow him. They don’t even turn their heads. A few seconds pass before one of them shifts, muscles loosening. Only then does the clearing feel real again. The absence feels deliberate. I’m still standing where he left me, replaying his words in the wrong order, when I sense movement behind me.
“Nyxara.”
The sound of my name lands low and steady, close enough that I feel it more than hear it. My shoulders tighten before I can stop them. I turn slowly.
He stands at the edge of the clearing, broad shape half-swallowed by dark, eyes fixed on me like he never lost the trail at all. The wolves shift again, this time with purpose. Kaelor’s gaze flicks over me once, quick and thorough.
“You shouldn’t have run,” he says.
And I know, with sudden clarity, that whatever choice I make next won’t belong to me alone anymore.