Veiled Eyes

Chapter 8

Trust – noun: firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone or something.

I stood in the wide, gleaming drill hall of the Rise barracks.

Father was there.

He wore his full commander’s uniform—black armor polished to a mirror sheen, the silver insignia on his chest catching the artificial sunlight streaming through the high windows. His broad shoulders were squared, his posture unyielding, the same way it had been in every memory I had of him. But here, in the dream, there was something strange about his face. It flickered between expressions—stern one moment, proud the next—like my mind couldn’t decide which version of him was real.

“Thea,” he said, his voice steady, carrying that quiet authority that had always made people listen without question. “Stand straight.”

I obeyed, the weight of his gaze pressing me taller. He circled me like he was inspecting a soldier, but when he stopped, his hands rested gently on my shoulders. That gentleness was rare in life, but here it felt heavy… final.

“You have to protect them,” he said, his eyes boring into mine. “No matter the order. No matter the cost.”

“Protect who?” I asked, but my voice echoed strangely, as though the walls of the barracks had stretched miles away.

His jaw tightened. “Not all enemies wear claws,” he said. “And not all monsters live beyond the walls.”

The words slid under my skin, prickling in a way I didn’t understand. Before I could question him, his face blurred, the edges smearing like wet paint. I blinked—suddenly there was blood on his armor. A long, jagged s***h across the Haven insignia on his chest plate.

I stumbled forward, my hands coming away red when I tried to touch him.

“You’ll see the truth, little sparrow,” he whispered, voice raw now, almost breaking. “But the truth will break you before it frees you.”

The air shifted. The smell of scorched metal and ash filled my lungs. The drill hall dissolved into darkness, and in the space where he had been.

I gasped, jerking upright as though I’d been pulled from deep water. My heart thundered in my chest, and the shadows of the dream clung to me like cobwebs. The sudden movement sent the room spinning, a wave of dizziness crashing over me. I swayed, clutching at the furs for balance, my head pounding in rhythm with my pulse.

I shook my head hard, trying to fling off the remnants of my father’s voice, the sharp ache it left lodged in my chest. His words still echoed in my mind—cryptic, heavy, and far too real.

“Easy,” Kael’s voice came, low but edged with a note I hadn’t heard from him before—concern. It rumbled beside me, pulling me back into the present.

I blinked, my vision slowly sharpening. We were still in his den. The firelight painted the cave walls in warm gold and deep shadow, the air carrying a faint, smoky heat. Kael rose from his spot near the flames, his movements unhurried but deliberate, and crossed the small space toward me.

It was then I noticed I was lying on the bedroll, my legs swathed in thick furs. He had moved me… tucked me in. The thought sent a strange ripple through me—confusion, discomfort, and something softer I couldn’t quite name.

I turned to face him, to offer my thanks, but the words caught in my throat. Kael was not the menacing figure I thought he was. The All C lenses—those insidious tools of the Haven—had twisted reality, warping him into something monstrous in my mind. Without them, I could see him clearly for the first time. He wasn’t a beast, or a shadow from some nightmare—he was just a man. Barely older than me. And right now, his expression was softer than I ever imagined it could be, his eyes carrying a trace of something dangerously close to kindness.

His skin, a warm, light tan, bore the faint etchings of a life carved in the wilderness—sun, wind, and hardship had left their quiet mark. His hair, a soft golden brown, fell in loose waves that brushed against his jaw, framing those startlingly expressive mocha eyes. They held me for a long moment, their depth unsettling, because beneath that glimmer of concern was… something else.

Then, he tilted his head. The motion was subtle, curious, but it sent an involuntary shiver racing down my spine. There was still something unnatural about the way he moved, a strangeness I couldn’t unsee. The All C’s had only magnified it before, distorting it into something horrific—but even without them, the wrongness was still there. Lurking.

I didn’t know if it was fear. Or mistrust. Or something darker—something he was holding deep inside himself, locked away behind that guarded gaze.

He narrowed his gaze on me, one brow raising in question.

"What?" I echoed, my voice barely above a whisper. Heat bloomed in my cheeks, a sudden self-consciousness prickling under the weight of his gaze.

"Your eyes," he said softly, curiosity threading through the low rumble of his voice. "They’re different."

I blinked, unsure what he meant—until the realization struck me. Of course. My eyes.

Without the All C lenses, their natural color was exposed—pale, striking green, almost too bright against my washed-out skin and blonde hair. The lenses had erased that vibrancy, reducing them to a flat, uniform hue, stripping away the little individuality I had.

"This is what they’re supposed to look like," I murmured, my gaze falling to my lap. My fingers curled into the fur blanket, clutching it as though it could shield me from the rawness of the moment. Without the All Cs, I felt unmasked. Naked.

Kael let out a long, controlled sigh, his eyes squeezing shut as if warding off something pressing in on him. When they opened again, they slid to the heap of clothes I’d shed — bloodstained, dirt-caked, reeking of the tunnels. A low sound rumbled in his stomach, more frustration than hunger. He shook his head once, sharply, like he was forcing a thought away.

“I’ll be back,” he muttered, pushing to his feet. His hand clamped around the bundle of my uniform, knuckles bone-white against the dark fabric.

“Where are you going?” I asked, tossing the furs aside so my legs dangled over the bed’s edge. My voice rose, sharp. “Why are you taking my uniform?”

He glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable in the low light. “That much blood will draw every beast within a mile,” he said flatly. “I need to burn it. Then I’m hunting.”

“Hunting?” I echoed, my voice sharper than I intended.

“I don’t have enough for two,” he replied, flicking his gaze toward the worn leather bags stacked against the cave wall. “So yes, hunting.” The words were clipped, deliberate, and cold enough to sting. Without another glance, he turned and strode for the entrance, his silhouette melting into the dark as if the shadows themselves swallowed him.

“Wait!” I called, pushing to my feet and hobbling after him, ignoring the ache in my leg. “Take me with you.”

“No.” He didn’t even hesitate. His eyes tracked my limp with clinical precision, and his arms crossed in a gesture that felt like a wall between us. “You’ll slow me down.”

“I am a trained fighter,” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended. “I can help you.”

That earned me a look—one that raked over me, from my bare feet to the dried blood on my thigh, lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle. His gaze was cool, skeptical, but there was something else buried in it… something that might have been calculation.

“Fighters from the tower don’t last long out here,” he said at last, the words carrying the weight of experience.

“You’ve been trained to fight enemies you can predict. Out here, nothing is predictable. And if you hesitate for even a breath, you die.”

“I won’t hesitate,” I promised, stepping closer despite the throbbing in my leg. “If I stay here, I’m just another burden you have to come back to. Let me prove I can keep up.”

Kael’s jaw tightened. For a heartbeat, I thought he was going to refuse again—but his eyes flicked toward the tunnel, his brow furrowing in some private calculation.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate. “Fine. But you follow my lead, do exactly what I say, and if I tell you to run—you run. No heroics.”

I nodded quickly, relief and anticipation sparking through me. I needed to move, to do something. Sitting here, useless, was eating me alive. Even after only a few hours, the weight of being a burden was unbearable. I wasn’t built for it—I was used to giving orders, not waiting for them.

He slung a pack off the wall and tossed it at me. “You carry this,” he said, voice gruff.

I caught it, biting back the urge to snap at his tone, and followed him out. He crouched to smother the fire, pressing soil over the embers until the faint glow disappeared. Then he shouldered his own pack and shoved the stone slab back into place, sealing the den from sight. The tunnel beyond swallowed us in darkness.