The fire burned low, its glow painting the stones in trembling amber. No one spoke for a long time. The air felt heavy, still poisoned by the echoes of their own shadows.
Aric sat apart from the others, his sword laid across his knees, his hand still stained from where his double had cut him. He hadn’t dared wash it. The wound was shallow, but he feared what water might reveal—black ichor instead of blood, perhaps, or the scar spreading further up his arm.
The girl sat across from him, her knees drawn tight to her chest. She hadn’t left his side during the battle, yet now she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. Every time his gaze drifted her way, she shifted, as though the flames between them weren’t just fire but a barrier.
It cut deeper than any blade.
---
The scarred man was the first t
