The Wisteria Accond

Chapter Seven

The world within the outpost walls is both a cage and a sanctuary. By daylight, it feels like I'm constantly being watched—by the other scouts, by Soren, by every shadow that might hide a hidden gaze. Every morning feels like an endless loop of routine, like the world has shrunk to this small circle of stone and steel, filled with whispers and the hum of tense energy that never quite goes away.

I wake up to the sound of the bells ringing from the tower, a metallic clanging that cuts through the early morning fog. I roll out of bed, the thin mattress creaking beneath me, and pull on my boots. The room is cold, the air crisp enough to bite. Outside, the first light of dawn spills through the gaps in the wooden shutters, casting thin bars of light across the floor.

It's another day at the outpost, another day pretending like I'm still the same Kiera who knew exactly what she was fighting for. But there's a new weight to everything now, a gnawing sense that I'm playing a part that doesn't quite fit anymore.

Soren is already in the mess hall when I get there, his sharp eyes scanning the room, always on alert. He's nursing a cup of something that looks suspiciously like the watery sludge they call coffee around here. He glances up when I slide into the seat across from him, a hint of concern etched into the lines of his face.

"You look like you didn't sleep," he observes, his voice as blunt as ever. "Bad dreams again?"

I shrug, reaching for the cup of steaming brown liquid in front of me. "Something like that," I say, taking a sip. The taste is bitter and burnt, but it does the job of waking me up. "Or maybe I just couldn't get comfortable."

Soren gives me a look that tells me he doesn't buy it. "You're distracted lately, Kiera. More than usual." There's no accusation in his voice, but there's a warning there, a reminder that I'm being watched more closely than I realize.

I force a smile. "Can't help it if I've got a lot on my mind, can I?"

He doesn't answer, just keeps watching me like he's trying to see through whatever mask I'm wearing today. I hate how easily he can read me, how well he knows when something's off. And there's so much that's off now, more than I can admit to myself, let alone to him.

"Patrol today?" I ask, trying to steer the conversation away from myself. "Or are we staying in?"

"Both," he replies, his tone clipped. "We're splitting shifts. Some of us are heading out to check the outer perimeter; the rest are on watch inside. You're with me this afternoon."

I nod, already feeling the tension coil tighter in my gut. A whole day in the outpost means I'm under everyone's eyes, under Soren's eyes. It's harder to slip away unnoticed when the walls close in around you.

After breakfast, I head to the armory to check on the weapons inventory. It's a tedious job, counting and recounting the arrows, swords, and daggers, making sure every piece is accounted for. But it's also one of the few moments where I can let my mind drift without anyone questioning it. I can almost lose myself in the rhythm of it—almost.

But I keep thinking of Ashen. Of his smile, the way it teases but also feels like a dare. Of his eyes, shifting colors like the twilight sky. And of his touch, that brief, unexpected warmth that has lingered in my skin long after he faded back into the night.

What the hell am I doing? It's a question I keep asking myself, but there's never an answer. Only that strange pull, that need to see him again, to understand him, to understand... myself. It's like a thread wrapped tight around my chest, and every time I try to pull away, it tugs me back, harder.

...

When afternoon comes, I find Soren waiting near the gates, his expression all business. The sun hangs high in the sky, casting long shadows over the worn cobblestone paths. The air is thick with the scent of earth and pine, the familiar smells of home, even if this place hasn't felt like home in a long time.

"Ready?" he asks, his tone brisk as always.

"Ready," I reply, adjusting the strap of my bow over my shoulder. We set off together, our footsteps crunching over the gravel path as we make our way around the inner walls.

It's a quiet patrol, and I know it's by design. Soren is giving me time to talk, to say whatever it is he thinks is weighing on me. But I keep my mouth shut, my eyes scanning the woods beyond the wall, looking for any sign of movement. I'm too aware of the way he watches me out of the corner of his eye, always waiting, always analyzing.

"Seen anything unusual lately?" he finally asks, his voice carefully neutral.

"No more than usual," I reply. "A few deer, some crows. Nothing to report."

"Hm," he grunts, clearly not satisfied with my answer. "Keep your eyes open. The Nightborne are getting bolder. Last thing we need is another surprise attack."

I nod, but my thoughts are elsewhere. They're with Ashen, with the strange, almost magnetic pull that draws me to him, despite everything I've been taught, everything I know. It's like there's a part of me that recognizes him on some level deeper than reason, deeper than instinct. And that's what scares me most of all.

By the time night falls, I'm on edge, my nerves frayed like a live wire. The outpost is quieter now, most of the soldiers off to their quarters, the torches lit along the walls casting flickering shadows over the grounds. I'm supposed to be off duty, but I can't bring myself to head back to my room. Instead, I linger near the edge of the training grounds, my hand resting on the hilt of my dagger, waiting. For what, I'm not entirely sure.

Soren finds me again, as he always does. He's like a shadow himself, always knowing where to find me, always there when I least expect it. "Kiera," he calls out softly, his tone a mix of weariness and something else—something like concern.

I turn to face him, my expression guarded. "What is it, Soren?"

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I know something's up with you. I've known you too long not to see it. You can talk to me, you know."

For a moment, I almost consider it. I almost consider telling him everything—that I've been sneaking out to meet with a Nightborne, that I've been questioning everything we've been fighting for. But the words die in my throat. Because deep down, I know he won't understand. Not in the way I need him to.

"I'm fine," I say instead, my voice firmer than I feel. "Just tired."

He studies me for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Alright," he says finally, but there's a weight to his words, a promise that this conversation isn't over. "But don't think I'm letting this go. We look out for each other here, remember?"

I nod, a small, tight smile on my lips.

When the night deepens and the outpost settles into an uneasy quiet, I slip away. The path to the woods is well-worn under my feet, and I move with a practiced silence, my breath steady, my senses sharp. The air is cool, the stars bright overhead, and my heart pounds with a mix of fear and anticipation.

Ashen is already there when I arrive, leaning against a tree with that familiar, almost lazy posture, like he's been waiting for me all along. His eyes catch the moonlight, and tonight, they're a deep, molten gold, brighter than they've ever been.

"You're late," he says, his lips quirking into a teasing smile. "I was starting to think you'd stood me up."

"Maybe I should have," I reply, but there's no real bite to my words. I take a step closer, my breath hitching just a little as his gaze locks onto mine.

His smile widens, a slow, deliberate thing. "But you didn't. And that's what makes this interesting."

I roll my eyes, but I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. "You're infuriating, you know that?"

"So I've been told," he says, pushing off the tree and stepping into my space. "But you keep coming back. So either you're a glutton for punishment... or you're just as curious as I am."

And maybe he's right. Maybe it's both. But as he reaches out, his fingers brushing mine with that strange, magnetic pull, I know one thing for sure—I'm not walking away. Not yet.