Urag's eyes closed slowly, lashes brushing his cheek as though the weight behind them had finally become too much.
His voice came out low, frayed at the edges.
"Do you have any idea what I had to do… to make this place alive again?"
He paused, jaw tightening slightly.
"For you."
It wasn't anger—it was something deeper. Worn. Aching. The kind of quiet that follows after a long fight no one ever saw.
Eiravyne trembled.
Her teeth sank into her lower lip, hard enough to sting. She couldn't look at him—wouldn't. Her gaze dropped to the floor as her fingers gripped the fabric of her dress, digging into the skin of her thighs beneath it.
No one had ever done anything for her. Not like this.
Not her mother. Not Ilkar. Not a single soul had ever looked at her and decided she was worth the fight.
And now—Urag, the only person who ever had… and all she wanted was to run from it.
From the only thing that had ever felt like it might be hers.
She hated herself for it.
