Curse Breaker (2)

3

My fear largely overshadows my outrage. In my head, a voice screams at me to follow after Sanaa, demand her aid, and force her to heal Samu. But my feet remain rooted in place as helplessness washes over me.

Did I really allow myself to so easily fall into another one of Killian's false promises? After a year of planning and dreaming of my brother, I never anticipated feeling so stuck upon finally finding him.

Voices outside the tent draw my attention. Lei, and a more familiar voice, strangely foreign with that new accent. My stomach clenches as I pull the sheet back. They both halt their conversation, attention drawing to me.

The deserter clothes I got used to seeing Killian in have been swapped out for a different style. More loose-fit, the trim of his neckline a deep V, revealing his toned chest. My eyes raise to meet his gaze as somebody captures Lei's attention, drawing her into a separate conversation.

"I didn't know you'd woken up," he says.

"I didn't realise I had to inform you of every single thing I did."

A grin tugs at his lips. "And back to your old self, too," he comments. "That's good."

There's a dryness in his tone that makes me think of the way we spoke to one another in Veymaw, with a certain playful familiarity. It makes my chest burn.

"How's your head?" he asks. "You bumped it pretty hard."

As if you care.

I ignore him. He takes a step towards the tent when I don't answer, but I block his path. I don't want him anywhere near Samu. "Leave me alone, Killian."

He hesitates, expression cautious as if he expects me to strike him. I scan his face. Those eyes, that lilt to his accent, they only serve to worsen the growing pit in my stomach. Following my conversation with Sanaa and everything else that's happened since Killian betrayed me, emotion swells inside of me. I blink frantically, trying to dissuade the tears. The only thing that could make this worse is crying in front of Killian.

"I don't know why I even considered believing that you'd help Samu after everything you did."

"Samu?" He frowns. "What're you talking about?"

"Just drop the act. You got what you wanted."

He narrows his eyes. "And what is it that you think I wanted?"

"Me, stuck here against my will. A prisoner." Over his shoulder, people begin to stare. "You don't have to pretend to care about me or Samu anymore."

His gaze burns into mine. I move to step past him. He catches my wrist. "Don't." I recoil, snatching my hand back.

"I know you're upset—"

"You don't know anything about me."

"That's not true, Freya."

"It is." My eyes burn as I stare at him, wishing I could read the thoughts in his eyes, wishing I could go back to the day we met and erase every single moment.

"You can't know somebody you don't even see as a person. For you and your people, I'm a means to an end. A weapon. None of you care about what happens to me, you only care about what you think I can do for you." I try to sound casual as if the thought doesn't bother me, but even I can hear the bitterness in my tone. "You don't know me. I clearly don't know you, and I don't want to. So just drop the act, okay?"

His jaw tightens as we stare at one another. But that stoic expression remains, my words having no effect on him whatsoever. Some pathetic part of me wants him to deny my claims. To say that he wasn't pretending, that he does care, that he knows me. That all those fleeting glances, burning touches, and midnight conversations weren't one-sided.