Octavia's Point of View
Rafael’s shoulders are rigid as he storms off, every step of his retreat sharp, heavy, echoing with the anger he does not know what to do with. I watch him go, my chest tight, but I do not call after him.
I cannot bring myself to call after him.
My hands are trembling, balled into fists at my sides. The words I threw at him still ring in my ears. 'This is not love, it is control.' I meant them. I had to say them. But now, standing here in the quiet left behind, I feel that awful mix of relief and guilt twisting in my stomach.
The bond pulls at me like a frayed rope, tugging me towards him even as I push away. It aches, that hollow space where we are tied together. My wolf stirs restlessly, unsettled, as if I have just denied something primal and necessary.
But
