The sky was a bruised kind of grey that morning—the kind that promised a storm but held back just enough to keep everyone uneasy. The forest around them was quiet. Too quiet.
Lucien had gone off with Eira again, probably arguing over something stupid like who was better at swordplay. Ayden was sharpening blades by the fire, as focused as ever, lost in thought. Cain was speaking with one of the elders from Valemire, trying to decode the meaning of the vision they'd found in the soul well.
And Selene… Selene had slipped away.
She walked deeper into the woods, following no path, letting her boots sink into the moss and fallen leaves. Her breath came in slow, aching gulps, and she hated how her chest felt tight—as if something invisible had wrapped around her ribs and squeezed.
It had been so long since she'd thought about her parents.
Not Ezekiel. Not the brothers.
Her real parents.
She could still remember the way her father used to whistle while fixing broken tools. The way her mother braided her hair before bed, humming softly, hands warm against her scalp.
She'd buried those memories for so long, trying to be strong for Cain, trying to fit into this chaotic, cursed world. But here—where the quiet felt like a mirror—everything came rushing back.
A sob broke through her lips, and she didn't bother wiping it away. She sank to her knees, hands curled into fists against the damp forest floor.
"I miss you," she whispered to the trees, to the wind, to nothing. "I'm so tired of pretending I don't."
Cain had noticed she wasn't at the fire. He looked around, quietly, instinctively. His gaze fell on a trail of light footprints in the moss leading into the woods.
He followed them.
He didn't call her name. He just listened—for her breathing, for her heartbeat, for the way the silence shifted when someone was hurting.
When he found her, she was sitting on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest. Her eyes were red, lips trembling. And for a moment, Cain didn't know what to do.
Not because he didn't care.
But because he wasn't used to seeing her like this. Selene—the one who always held the line, always carried the flame even when everyone else was shaking.
Quietly, he sat down beside her.
They didn't speak for a long time.
Selene finally broke the silence with a shaky breath. "They're probably dead. My parents. I don't even know where their graves are."
Cain nodded, staring ahead. "I don't know if mine are dead or alive. But I know they didn't want me."
Her head turned toward him slowly.
"I always thought… if I just kept moving forward, the pain would stay behind. But it doesn't."
"No," Cain said. "It doesn't."
She wiped her face with the sleeve of her jacket. "I feel selfish for crying about it."
"You're allowed to cry, Selene," he said, voice low and steady. "You're allowed to fall apart."
She looked at him, eyes soft and wet. "You never do."
"That's not true," he said. "I just do it when no one's watching."
Selene leaned into him gently, resting her head on his shoulder. Cain didn't flinch. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer.
She whispered, "Thank you."
He didn't say anything back, but his grip tightened around her slightly—as if to say, You're not alone anymore.
They stayed like that for a while, the wind picking up around them. There were no grand declarations, no promises of forever. Just warmth. And presence.
And in a world that constantly demanded strength, Cain became her soft place to fall.
Later that evening, when they returned, Lucien gave them a teasing look but said nothing. Ayden raised a brow but simply handed Selene a cup of warm tea.
Eira, watching from across the fire, narrowed her eyes. Her jealousy stirred again, but this time… it felt different. Less about Cain. More about wanting to be held like that. Wanted like that.
Maybe, without realizing it, this broken little family was beginning to understand each other in ways deeper than blood.