[redith].
How long had he stood there? What had he felt? Pride? Shock? Betrayal?
I swallowed hard.
I tried to imagine it from his side—the mate bond humming with excitent that wasn’t his, the scent of adrenaline, the unmistakable truth that sothing monuntal had changed, and that I had chosen silence instead of him.
Just as I was still wallowing in my sorrows, footsteps crunched softly nearby.
I stiffened, half-expecting to turn and find Draven standing there already. Instead—
"By the moons," Dennis groaned, staggering slightly as he ca into view. One hand pressed to his temple, the other hanging uselessly at his side. "If the moon ever invites to drink again, remind to insult it and walk away."
I blinked. "Dennis?"
He froze, too, his eyes widening. "redith?"
We stared at each other for a second, equally surprised.
"What are you doing out here?" we asked at the sa ti.
He squinted at , then winced. "Don’t talk so loudly. My head feels like soone’s using it as a drum."
Despite myself, a small smile tugged at my lips. "You’re still hungover?"
"Still?" he scoffed weakly. "I think I’ve crossed into punishnt territory. Plum wine is a liar. Sweet on the tongue, murderous afterwards."
He shuffled closer and dropped onto a rock opposite with a dramatic sigh. "I ca out here to walk it off, to feel the fresh air and watch the trees. They are at least less judgntal than people."
My smile faded as quickly as it ca.
Dennis tilted his head, studying through half-lidded eyes. "Okay," he said slowly, "now that I’m closer, you don’t look like soone enjoying a peaceful morning stroll."
I looked away, focusing on the leaves trembling lightly above us. "I got tired."
"Of walking," he guessed.
"Of thinking," I corrected quietly.
He humd. "Yeah. That will do it."
For once, he didn’t tease or try to push. He just sat there, rubbing his temple, letting the silence stretch comfortably between us.
After a mont, he added, "You know, for what it’s worth, I don’t usually wake up with headaches unless sothing went terribly or very interestingly wrong."
I let out a soft breath that was almost a laugh.
Dennis glanced at again, more carefully this ti. "You don’t have to tell anything," he said, unexpectedly gentle. "But if you wanted to complain about my brother, I’m legally obligated as his sibling to listen."
That did make smile a little, though crooked, but real. "I might take you up on that," I said.
He nodded solemnly. "When my head stops pounding, I will be fully operational."
I looked back at the path, my chest tightening again. I wondered if Draven was still with my grandma.
After a few seconds, I felt a pair of eyes on , and tilted my head. Dennis was still staring at , watching silently.
His gaze lingered on my face a second longer than necessary, the teasing edge dulling. "Alright," he said slowly. "That’s not a usual ’lost-in-the-trees’ look."
I hesitated.
Dennis sighed, clearly deciding whether to pry or not. Then he rubbed the back of his neck and asked more gently, "I can sense sothing is seriously wrong between you and my brother. Right?"
The question landed softly, but it still landed.
I didn’t answer right away. My fingers curled against the fabric of my dress, and I stared at the ground as if the answer might be written there. Finally, I nodded.
"Sothing happened," I said quietly. "Sothing about . I thought I needed ti before I told him." My chest tightened. "But I just found out... he already knows."
Dennis straightened at that. "What is it?"
I shook my head imdiately. "I can’t say. I’m sorry." I t his eyes this ti. "Draven needs to hear it from first. Before anyone else."
For a mont, he studied , really studied , then he exhaled and gave a small nod.
"Fair enough, I respect that," he said simply, stretching his legs with a wince.
"You know," he said after a pause, voice quieter now, "for soone who jokes as much as I do, I’ve learned one thing the hard way." He glanced at the trees, then back at . "Silence hurts more than bad timing."
I looked at him.
"You wait too long to say sothing important," he continued, choosing his words carefully, "and suddenly it’s not about what you were hiding anymore. It’s about why you thought the other person couldn’t handle it."
My throat tightened.
"I’m not saying you’re wrong," he added quickly, lifting a hand. "Sotis people really do need ti. Moons know I do. But mates?" He let out a quiet breath. "We feel gaps. Even when we don’t know what is missing."
I swallowed, the truth of it settling uncomfortably deep.
Dennis shifted again, grimacing, then squinted past . His expression changed, just enough for to notice.
"Well," he muttered, pushing himself to his feet, "speaking of gaps closing..."
I turned. Draven was walking toward us along the path, unhurried, inevitable.
My heart stumbled once, hard.
Dennis followed my gaze and let out a low whistle. "Yep. That’s my cue."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "For what it’s worth, he looks like soone who wants answers, not a fight."
Then, with a crooked half-smile, he added, "And I would rather not be collateral damage while you two figure it out."
He stepped back, gave a brief nod, and turned away. "I’m going to find water. Or a healer. Or a hole to crawl into until my head forgives ."
His footsteps faded into the woods, but I stayed where I was. And this ti, when Draven reached , there was nowhere left to hide.
Draven crossed the small clearing without urgency and sat down on the rock Dennis had occupied earlier.
He didn’t look at right away. Instead, his gaze drifted toward the trees, the way one does when pretending not to think too hard about sothing already clawing at their chest.
"How was your walk?" he asked.
The normalcy of the question startled more than anger would have.
I let out a slow breath and lowered myself onto a fallen log opposite him. "Tiring," I said honestly. My legs ached, but it was nothing compared to the weight pressing behind my ribs.
He nodded once, as if that answered everything. And that was when the guilt surged—hot and sharp. He wasn’t confronting or accusing . He was giving space, and sohow, that hurt more.
My fingers curled into the fabric of my dress. I stared at the ground for a mont too long, then forced myself to look up at him.
"I’m sorry."
The words fell between us, fragile and bare. Draven didn’t respond.
Seconds stretched. The wind moved through the leaves above us. Sowhere far away, a bird cried out. But he remained still, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands loosely clasped.
Just when I wondered if he would pretend he hadn’t heard at all, he finally spoke.
"What," he asked quietly, turning his head just enough to look at , "are you sorry for?"
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