Page 110 of Tethered In Blood

I didn’t turn back. If I did, I wouldn’t fight to spar.

I would fight to feel nothing at all.

33

Eden

THESOUNDOFmyknocking was dull and muffled against the thick wood of the door, swallowed by the stillness that hung in the corridor. Holding my breath, I waited for any sign of movement, yet the silence on the other side lingered. I drew in a slow, steady breath and pressed my palm to the door. The wood was cool beneath my fingers, grounding in a way that only unsettled me further. I pushed it open, carefully in case they were asleep.

Empty.

A sigh escaped me, making it apparent how much weight I had carried and how tightly I had held myself together. My fingers curled around the leather-bound journal at my side, but it did little to soothe the knot in my chest.

I should have known he wouldn’t be in their room.

Oberon had always been restless, always wound too tight beneath his skin, a blade always waiting to be drawn. After last night, of course, he vanished into the early light. And Garrick likely sat recovering from another half-drunk misadventure or nursing the bruises that came with trying to pry answers from Oberon the way he always did, mischief trailing after him in that charming, exasperating, and predictable smoke.

I could go looking for them… or—

My gaze flicked to the window, where the faintest brush of sunrise kissed the crooked rooftops in hues of gray and pale gold. The village lay cloaked in the hush of early morning, its silence feeling sacred and untouched. Mist coiled between buildings and slithered along the cobblestone. The slow, steady breath of a slumbering beast curled along the shoreline, breathing with the rhythm of the vast and unknowable sea.

If I couldn’t find them, I had to go alone.

The thought should have stirred hesitation, caution, or that familiar echo of Oberon’s voice telling me to wait. Tothink. But there was no time to second-guess. The stillness had a sharp edge, the breath before something terrible happened.

Parchment whispered against the leather of my journal as I pulled it free. The soft texture beneath my fingertips was worn smooth from use and smudged with ink. I dipped the quill from their desk and scrawled a quick note, my writing fast but clean, just in case.

Because I wasn’t reckless the way he thought.

The ink hadn’t yet dried when I placed the note on the desk. Its weight was featherlight, yet final, a quiet farewell that said,I tried.You didn’t stop me.

I stepped out into the corridor, out of the inn, and into the bite of morning air. The tavern stood silent behind me. It, too, had chosen to rest a little longer. The village held its breath. The usual clang and shuffle of merchants setting up stalls was absent; the marketplace was cloaked in canvas and dew, with creatures curled beneath blankets, waiting for warmth to return. The scents of salt and damp wood drifted through the air, clinging to the surroundings.

I followed the path in silence, the crunch of gravel beneath my boots the only sound for several long minutes. Even the birds hadn’t yet stirred. Only the distant silhouette of a fisher moved along the dock, hunched and slow, casting off lines with quiet efficiency. His figure seemed to blur in the fog, more shadow than man.

My hand ran down my face, and frustration prickled beneath my skin.Where were they? If they weren’t at the inn, the market, or the tavern, then where?

A low, familiar voice echoed through the mist.

Oberon?

I stilled, tilting my head to listen. His voice was a low thrum carried on the damp morning air, half-swallowed by the fog, the words too muffled to catch.Strange. He didn’t speak aloud unless there was a purpose behind it. Even in battle, he was more steel than sound. His orders were usually sharp, concise, and measured.

But something about his tone, rhythm, and the quiet reverence laced into each syllable felt different. It wasn’t a command, not a conversation. It was deeper.

I turned toward the docks, boots brushing against the wet stone path as I followed the sound. Mist curled around my ankles, swallowing shapes and softening edges. The village was still asleep. Every shadow stretched long and strange in the gray light of dawn.

Maybe they had seen me searching. I swallowed the sudden tightness in my throat. I had been wandering long enough, checking the usual places. Perhaps they came out to find me, to make sense of the morning like I had.

But each step was heavier than the last.

The wooden planks stretched into the sea like the ribs of something ancient and forgotten. My boots creaked when I stepped onto the docks. The air was colder, crisper here.

It echoed again. Clear this time.

“Dilthen Doe.”

I froze, and a slow, crawling unease unfurled in my gut. It didn’t announce itself with panic or fear. That instinctive hum beneath the skin that warned something was watching.

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