Page 86 of Bound By Song

“Cozy place you’ve got,” Blaise says, strolling into the room like he owns the place. I bet he’s been snooping. His voice is low and casual, but I can sense something more behind his words. “A bit quiet though. Must get lonely.”

I stiffen, immediately defensive. “It’s fine.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he says softly, his eyes not mocking, but thoughtful. There’s no teasing edge this time, and it catches me off guard.

I look at him, unsure of how to respond. He’s the last person I expected to say something like that.

Before I can answer, Xar speaks up, his voice cool, but with a quiet interest. “Where’d you get the art supplies?”

I blink, startled by the question. My paints and sketchbooks are stacked in the corner near the old armchair. I didn’t realise they’d noticed. The mention of art supplies brings an unexpected wave of vulnerability.

“They were my Grams’,” I say, keeping my answer short and not entirely truthful.

“Do you paint?” Dane asks, his voice breaking through the quiet. It’s low and curious.

I look down, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “Not really,” I lie quickly, glancing away.

What is wrong with me? Why am I shutting them out now and being so short when we were happily opening up to one another last night?

Blaise raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Not really, or you do, but you don’t want us to know it?”

I try to suppress the nervous twitch of my fingers. It’s always the things I want to hide that Blaise seems to pick up on. His teasing is like an instinct for him, something that makes me want to snap, but I don’t. I can’t.

“It’s not important,” I mutter, trying to brush it off, but Xar’s gaze lingers on me. I feel the weight of it like a physical pressure.

“It’s important if it’s yours,” Xar says, his voice low, but unwavering. “Anything that’s a part of your life is something we want to know about and take an interest in, Evie. There’s no judgement here.”

The weight of their attention makes my chest tighten, and I feel the urge to snap again. To tell them to stop prying. But something about the way they look at me – it’s like they actually care. And that throws me off balance.

I clear my throat, crossing my arms in a defensive posture. “I paint. Sometimes. When I feel like it. That’s all. Grams raised all four of us to be accomplished, even if our home education was outdated and lacking.”

Blaise grins, his eyes lighting up. “That’s more than most people can say. What do you paint?”

“Nothing,” I lie again, my face warming as I feel my cheeks flush. Why can’t I just admit this is how I make my living?

“Nothing?” Blaise repeats, his grin widening. “That must be some impressive nothing, considering how much you’ve got stashed over there.”

I glare at him, my temper flaring, but before I can bite back, Dane cuts in, his tone calm, steady. “Leave it, Blaise.”

Blaise throws up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave – for now.”

I do not believe him for a second. I get the impression already that Blaise doesn’t even know the meaning of the wordbehave.

I take a deep breath and decide to just open up. “I paint for a living. Most of what’s stacked up over there are unfinished commissions but there’s a few paintings I’ve done for myself too. Just for fun.”

There’s a pause. Not an awkward one. Just long enough for me to regret saying anything – until Xar nods slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“That’s...really fucking cool,” he says, voice quiet but sincere.

Dane leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes on me like he’s trying to piece something together. “You make art. You build worlds people feel in their bones. You shouldn’t have to hide that.”

Blaise, for once, doesn’t crack a joke. He just watches me, head tilted, his expression unreadable but softer than I’ve seen it.

The conversation settles into a lighter, easier rhythm after that. The guys don’t push, but they also don’t leave me alone in my thoughts. I begin to relax, just a little bit, despite the storm howling outside and the overwhelming weight of everything that’s still unsaid between us.

But underneath the warmth of the moment, something starts to shift in my body. Subtle at first – a low, nagging pressure in my abdomen, a tightening in my chest I can’t quite explain. My skin feels flushed, too warm, and no matter how I shift, I can’t seem to get comfortable.

The cramps are dull but persistent, paired with a strange ache deep in my lower back. I chalk it up to stress, or the cold, or the aftermath of everything that’s happened. But there’ssomething else under it. A buzzing heat just beneath the surface. Restless. Wrong.

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