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Slowly, he turns, shadows curling at his feet. His gaze meets mine, storm-dark and heavy with something I can’t quite name.

I clench my fists. “We need to talk.”

I storm forward, every ounce of restraint I have left crumbling beneath the weight of my fury. “You lied to me.” My voice comes out sharp, cracking against the walls.

Oberon doesn’t flinch. He just stands there.

I take another step, my breath coming faster, heat rising under my skin. “Tell me it’s not true. Tell me you didn’t lead those attacks. That your shadows weren’t seen—weren’t felt—tearing through those villages.” My voice breaks, but I don’t care.

He holds my stare but says nothing.

“Tell me this is just another rumor. Another way for people to turn against you. Tell me something, anything—gods, Oberon, just SAY SOMETHING!”

Still, nothing, not a single word.

He just stands there, watching me with those ebony-dark eyes, his expression unreadable. After what feels like an eternity, the corners of his lips curl just slightly, just barely into something hollow, something so wrong, a broken smile.

I stagger back, as if he has struck me. “That’s it?” I choke out. “That’s all you’re going to give me?”

His chest rises and falls with a breath too slow, too heavy. “What do you want me to say, Lyra?” His voice is quiet, wrecked.

“I want you to tell me you didn’t do this!” I shout, my hands trembling. “I want you to give me a reason to believe in you! But you won’t. Because you can’t.”

His throat bobs, his hands curling into fists as he looks away from me.

Rage and heartbreak war inside me, clawing at my ribs. I feel like I am drowning in the silence between us. I shake my head, voice trembling now. “You promised me. You swore to me you weren’t like him.” My nails bite into my palms. “But you are, aren’t you?”

Oberon flinches slightly at my words, and his shadows stir violently, writhing as if they feel something he won’t let himself show.

I let out a bitter laugh, blinking hard. “You don’t even care enough to fight for yourself.” I take another step back, but he still doesn’t move toward me. Doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t say a damn thing. I turn away first because I can’t look at him anymore. Can’t stand that hollow, ruined expression carved into his face.

I start to leave, my chest burning, my mind screaming at me to run, to forget, to pretend I never cared in the first place.

I barely make it three steps before his voice cuts through the air, raw and strained. “You know I have to stay in his good graces.”

I freeze.

My heart slams against my ribs, anger and pain still warring inside me.

“This is the only way this works.” His voice is quieter this time, like the weight of the words is pressing down on him, grinding him into the ground.

I don’t turn around, I don’t walk away either.

Oberon lets out a ragged breath. “I had to prove myself to him. If I hadn’t, if I refused, if I hesitated . . .” He runs an uneven hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. “He would’ve seen right through me. Then all of this would have fallen apart.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, my breath shaking.

“I did what was necessary,” he continues, voice small beneath something fractured.

I turn, slowly, cautiously, as if I am afraid of what I’ll see. When I meet his eyes, it isn’t the person I yelled at moments ago, the one who stood silent and impassive while my world cracked apart. He looks like someone else entirely.

His hands are clenched at his sides, his jaw locked so tight I think it might break. But it is his eyes that undo me.

They aren’t cold. They aren’t distant.

They are tormented. Like he is still standing in those burning villages, still hearing the screams, still feeling the blood on his hands, whether it is his or not.

My anger wavers. I take a step back toward him, arms still crossed over my chest, like I’m not ready to let go of my fury completely, even as I feel it slipping, melting into something softer. “Oberon . . .” I whisper, hating how soft my voice sounds. Hate that I am letting myself feel his pain like it was my own.