"You are still my favorite person, Bree. Always will be." The sharp words repeatedly crackled in between her ears. The absurd nature in which each letter, word, and the entire statement tormented her brain was meticulously unbearable. It didn't feel fair how someone could say something so gentle and make it hurt this much.
She had not cried when he said it. She had stood there, arms crossed, jaw clenched, like she always did when she was trying to stay strong. Kael had smiled, soft and bittersweet, like he already knew it would break her.
Now, three nights later, Bree sat by the dying fire just outside the forest of Arbads. The coals were low, glowing like wounded stars, and the night was cold. The kind of cold that crept past your skin and settled into your bones. Her hands were dirty. Her boots were still wet from crossing the river. But all she could think about was him.
How stupid. How unfair.
"You don't say things like that and then just leave," she muttered bitterly, poking the fire with a stick. "You don't call someone your favorite person and walk into a void."
And yet, that's exactly what he did.
When the sky cracked open and the Rift appeared above the capital, Kael did not hesitate. Of course he did not. That was just like him, charging in, trying to fix everything, trying to save everyone.
And she had let him.
"I could have gone," she whispered to the night. "It could have been me."
But she was not the hero. Not like him. She was the one who survived. The one who stayed behind.
The charm around her neck, a dull glass pendant Kael had carved himself pulsed faintly. She felt it like a heartbeat against her skin. He had put a part of himself in it, she knew that much. She did not understand how it worked, the magic, the memory, the soul binding. All she knew was that the damn thing would not stop glowing.
He was still out there. Somewhere between life and death. And the charm was her reminder.
Or is it her punishment.
She clenched her jaw and buried her face in her hands. It was not the epic kind of grief she had read about in the old stories no poetic tears, no screaming into the sky. Just a quiet, aching emptiness that lived in her chest like a second heartbeat.
She missed his voice. His awful jokes. The way he always sat too close. The way he never let her pretend she did not care.
"I hate you," she whispered, though her voice cracked when she said it. "I really, really hate you."
But the pendant only pulsed again one slow, stubborn beat.
She leaned back against her pack and stared up at the stars. The sky looked different now. Dimmer. Like it was missing something.
"You're still my favorite person too, Kael," she finally said, softer now. "Always will be."
And this time, she let herself cry.