They did not move far that day.
Elion could not.
Every step sent pain rippling through his body, sharp and unforgiving. His skin was pale, his movements slow, but he never complained. She noticed that more than anything. How he endured quietly, as if pain was simply another thing to carry.
By afternoon, they found a narrow hollow hidden between thick trees and stone. The ground dipped inward, shielded from the wind, invisible unless you already knew it was there.
She decided this was where they would stop.
She built a fire carefully. Small. Controlled. Just enough to dry their clothes and warm his shaking hands. The flames obeyed her hesitantly, as if remembering what they were capable of becoming.
Elion watched her from where he sat against a rock.
"You are afraid of it now," he said.
"Yes."
"Good," he replied softly. "It means you are still choosing."
The words stayed with her.
As night fell, she cleaned his wounds again. Her hands lingered longer than necessary, memorizing him in case memory was all she would be left with.
He winced when she pressed too hard.
"Sorry," she whispered.
"I do not mind," he said. "It reminds me I am alive."
That frightened her more than the blood.
Later, when the fire burned low, Elion slept.
She did not.
She sat with her knees drawn to her chest, staring into the embers, listening to the forest breathe around them. Every sound felt like a warning. Every shadow felt like it was watching.
Her thoughts drifted back to the city.
To the people she had loved and failed.
She had run since then, believing distance could save others from her. But distance had not erased the fire. It had only taught it patience.
Her gaze shifted to Elion.
He stirred in his sleep, murmuring something unintelligible. His brow furrowed briefly, then smoothed.
Even now, hurt and hunted, he reached for peace.
She could not give him that.
But she could give him truth.
Before dawn, she stood and walked a short distance away. She pressed her palms against the cold stone and closed her eyes.
If the world was coming for her, she would not let it find him first.
She drew the fire inward.
Not releasing it.
Not unleashing it.
Binding it.
The effort nearly brought her to her knees.
Sweat slicked her skin as she forced the power to coil tighter, quieter. It resisted, angry and alive, but she did not let go.
By the time the sun rose, she was shaking.
Elion woke to find her sitting nearby, pale and exhausted.
"What did you do," he asked gently.
She looked at him and managed a tired smile. "I stayed."
He reached for her hand.
And for once, she did not pull away.
But far beyond the trees, the hunters followed the scars left by fire and river and love.
And silence, which had hidden them for a night, had already learned their names.