[redith].
Draven and I walked side by side along the narrow path that curved away from the house.
The sun was already sinking, its light softened and amber, slipping between the trees in long slants that painted the ground in gold and shadow.
The heat of the day had faded, replaced by a cooler breeze that brushed against my skin and carried the scent of earth and leaves.
Everything felt quieter now. Draven didn’t speak, and neither did I.
Our steps fell into a steady rhythm, close enough that our shoulders brushed once... then again. Each ti it happened, my breath hitched, and I hated how much I noticed sothing so small.
I wanted him to hold my hand.
The thought ca uninvited, simple and aching. It wasn’t because I needed reassurance in words or because I was afraid.
I just wanted to feel him—to know, without asking, that he wasn’t still holding himself apart from , that there was no longer bitterness in his heart for after how I hurt him.
Draven’s hand hung at his side, close enough that if I shifted my fingers just a little, they would touch, but I didn’t.
I kept walking, with my eyes forward while pretending my heart wasn’t counting every second that passed without him reaching for .
The silence wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t tense either. It was careful, like we were both aware that one wrong move could crack sothing still fragile between us.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye.
His expression was calm, unreadable, but his gaze kept drifting toward . Like he was checking, asuring, and making sure I was still beside him.
Just then, we rounded a bend where the trees opened slightly, the last light of day spilling freely across the path. The warmth lingered just enough to be comforting.
Then, without a word, Draven moved closer. Our arms brushed again, this ti deliberately. His hand grazed mine.
My pulse jumped. I waited, but he didn’t pull away.
Instead, his fingers slowly closed around my hand, firm and steady, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he had made a quiet decision and didn’t need to announce it.
Relief flooded so suddenly I almost stumbled.
I tightened my grip on him before I could stop myself. And he didn’t comnt or look at . He just kept walking, his thumb brushing just once over my knuckles.
That was enough proof that whatever hurt lingered in him hadn’t erased us.
And knowing Draven, I had no doubt he already knew I wanted him to hold my hand. He just wanted to drill first, before giving in to my desire.
I walked beside him for a while longer, the quiet stretching between us, until he released a deep sigh and finally broke the silence.
"Can you tell ," he asked, his voice calm but deliberate, "the suspicions you have about my mother?"
Imdiately, I stopped walking. The question hit so suddenly, I almost forgot how to breathe.
For a mont, I just stood there, staring at the path ahead, my thoughts scrambling. Of all the things I expected him to say, this wasn’t one of them.
I had truly believed we were past this—for now, at least. Just this morning, I had told him clearly that I wouldn’t speak until I was sure. Yet here he was now, pressing again, as if the matter refused to stay buried.
’Why won’t you let this go?’
Slowly, I slipped my hand out of his. The loss of his warmth was imdiate and unwelco.
I lowered my head, refusing to et his eyes, afraid that if I did, I would either give in too easily or say sothing I couldn’t take back.
"You’re forcing my hand," I said quietly.
He didn’t answer.
The silence felt heavier this ti, not gentle like before, but weighted. He was still standing in front of . I could feel it, but he said nothing. No reassurance. No argunt.
It seed like he was waiting for the answer to the question he specifically inquired about. And that, more than anything, made my chest tighten.
I exhaled slowly, exhaustion seeping into my bones. I didn’t want another fight. Not after everything we had just survived. Not after almost losing him... almost losing myself.
I lifted my head and finally t his gaze. "I’m suspecting a lot of things," I said carefully. "For example... your mother’s health."
Another sigh left before I could stop it. His lips parted, ready to ask more questions, but I moved quickly, cutting in before he could.
"Can I ask you for a favour?"
He studied for a mont, then nodded once.
"Can I answer your question after I visit your mother again?" I asked. "The last thing I want is to give you unverified conclusions. Things like that can destroy too much—things an apology can’t fix. Things ti can’t rewind."
I held his gaze as I spoke, hoping he would hear the truth beneath my caution. I wasn’t stalling to deceive him. I was trying to protect him. Trying to protect us.
"So please," I added softly, "give a little ti."
Draven leaned closer, his eyes moving from one of mine to the other, searching, weighing, as if he was trying to read every thought I wasn’t saying out loud. The intensity of it made my stomach knot.
Then he leaned back slightly. "Then promise ," he said, "that when you do tell , you will tell everything. Every suspicion. Every detail. No omissions."
I shut my eyes briefly.
Of course. I should have known. There would be no more half-truths. No more pauses bought with patience. He wasn’t going to allow it again.
When I opened my eyes, I just looked at him, too tired to argue, and too drained to bargain.
He lifted a brow. "redith, we don’t have a deal if you don’t agree to my terms."
I felt it then—the weariness settling deep in my chest. I wanted peace. Just a mont of it.
"Fine," I said at last. "We have a deal."
He nodded and, to my utter disbelief, extended his hand for a handshake. I stared at it. Then at his face. Then back at his hand again.
Annoyance flared hot and sharp deep within , but I swallowed it down and reached out and shook his hand anyway.
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