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At first, I think he’s talking to himself, but then he spins and glares at me. His eyes are red-rimmed, lips chapped, and dark splatter covers his cheeks. “I was supposed to be with them! Protecting them!”

“I saved your life. Multiple times. These people did nothing to me.” I gesture at the corpses he’s leaving for the carrion birds.

“I should have killed you in the Barrens. Saved myself the trouble,” he growls and snatches his tool again.

“Why didn’t you? Whatever secret entrance you’re looking for doesn’t exist. Patryn’s tunnel isn’t—”

“Stop talking.” He returns to his task. “Just fucking go.”

Anger shoots through my chest. “No. I’m not going anywhere. You dragged me out here, tortured me, caged me, and now that your stupid plan didn’t work, you want to pretend it all didn’t happen?”

His shoulders hike up to his ears, fist trembling around the tool. “Leave, Saren. Do it now before I really do kill you.”

“You keep threatening it, but I don’t think you will.”

Using my mastery, I swipe the tool from his hand, shove him away from the truck so he crashes into the snow, and shut the truck hood. His eyes whip to mine, furious and something else… Something that looks a lot like heartache.

Clenching my jaw, I fold my arms and wait.

We stare at each other for a long time. I think it’s the most I’ve truly looked at him since he took me prisoner.

Ryx has always been such a mystery. Even after I got to know him better, he still kept so much from me. Take his real name, for example. Not once did he ever ask me to call him Aryx. No. It was always Ryx. He never told me what Others were really capable of or why his veins glowed like that. I always thought his tremors were due to stress, but seeing them now- that twitch and subtle shake of his fingers- I know it has to do with his abilities.

When did he get that bump on his nose? It’s like it was broken so severely that it was impossible to heal any other way. He’s hardened in a way I’m not used to. Cruel, too. But even though he’s changed, I can still find pieces of who he used to be. The way his cunning eyes reveal more than he thinks. How his hair has a blue sheen in the right light. And his scent hasn’t changed at all. Still the same wild, sage scent that can steal the air from my lungs.

It feels good to know I’m not alone in my slow perusal.

Every inch I’ve taken in of him, he’s done the same with me. Our eyes do a familiar dance, just like that first night together. Sizing one another up, testing how far the stalemate can go. A low flutter forms in my stomach, right where my womb would be. When the wind kicks up and carries his scent right to me, I fight back tears.

He was mine. For those handful of years, he was mine.

“Ryx…”

“Don’t,” he chokes and finally stands. “Don’t go there.”

“I tried to find you,” I tell him anyway. “I was almost through the gate when they caught me.”

He flinches, eyes slamming shut. “Stop.” It’s a command, one he pushes into his voice. I almost heed it. The urge is so strong.

“Matthias beat me. Whipped me until the flesh couldn’t heal itself. I think he would have stopped if I just let you go. But I couldn’t. Every time he hit me, I kept thinking of you. How I was going to find you one day and explain everything.” My voice wobbles, but I can’t stop talking. “Do you know how many cuts to the same spot it takes before a Telex scars? Five hundred and seventeen.” Tears flow freely down my cheeks. “That’s how many times I thought of you for each scar.”

He says nothing, but is staring right at me now.

“I held on for as long as I could before I physically couldn’t keep going. I had to let you go. But not before thinking your name 10,340 times. Matthias had to whip me 517 times to make one scar. You only had to touch me once.” I rest my hand over the black mark.

Jaw flexing, he balls his shaking fists and deliberately holds off on blinking. But I can see the fresh gloss over his eyes, the strain in the corners.

He can hate me all he wants, but this is the truth.

My truth.

The fact he can’t even acknowledge what I’ve been through for him hurts more than the scars or the memories.

We were never meant to be anything more than enemies, and it’s well past time I fucking accepted it.

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Ryx