Page 51 of Unravelled
“Exactly! We need to know what they are doing.” she shot back, stepping sideways.
“That's the problem...” He shifted, keeping himself between her and the door. “We don’t understand what they’re capable of.”
She snapped, suddenly sharp. “I can handle myself Tharion”
“That’s not what I’m...”
“You’re trying to protect me,” she said, softer, but no less fierce. “And I’m telling you, I don't need you to.”
Tharion’s eyes searched hers, desperate to find the right words.
“You always rush in,” Mira continued, “That if you movefast enough, you can protect everyone”
Tharion’s voice dropped, hoarse. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“I can keep myself alive,” Mira said, her voice steady.
“No, you can’t!” he shouted, shaking his head. “If you could, we wouldn’t be standing in this Navigator damned mess!”
The words hung in the air between them like a slap. He realized too late what he’d said, or maybe he’d meant it and just regretted the shape it took. Mira's expression didn’t shift, not at first. Only her breath. One sharp inhale. One heartbeat’s pause.
“Is that what you think?” she asked quietly. “That what happened to us, was my fault?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Tharion said quickly, but it didn’t matter. The damage was already done. “You know I didn’t.”
She took a step back, out of his reach. Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. Tharion opened his mouth. Closed it again. The words wouldn’t come, because there was nothing he could say to take it back. Mira turned. Her steps were sharp, unhesitating. She moved past him, through the door, not looking back.
The corridor was cool, the hush of stone swallowing her footsteps. But Tharion's voice in her head was relentless.The words echoed behind her like footsteps that refused to fade. And perhaps… he wasn’t wrong.
She swallowed, her throat tight, the memory of their people dying on the road was bitter against her tongue. She had told herself it was all for them. For the people. But they were the ones who had paid the price.
Her fingers grazed the cool stone wall, searching for something solid. Something that wouldn’t crack beneath her. Is this who she had always been? The thought came unbidden, sharper than the rest. Had she always put herself above everyone else without even realizing it? Did she cause this drifting between them before the bond even dulled? Before they forgot?
Her steps slowed. The quiet wrapped around her like fog. Perhaps she and Tharion were always going to break. Maybe no one had handed her the chisel. Maybe she’d chosen to pick it up herself.
Footsteps came from behind her. Steady, measured. Never rushing. Never faltering. Of course, Tharion had followed her. He always did. Mira turned sharply, ducking behind a faded velvet tapestry that swallowed the light in its folds. She stepped inside and let the curtain fall behind her. Darkness embraced her like an old friend. The fabric gave way to a narrow stone passage. Cold and stale with the scent of old dust and mildew. An attendants' tunnel.
She pressed her back to the wall, closing her eyes. Her hands trembled, fingers curled into fists at her side.
Outside, his footsteps slowed. She could picture him searching the corridor. Cautious and patient. Her breath hitched. She tried to swallow it down, to hold it all where no one could see. A single tear slipped down her cheek. Then another. She covered her mouth with her hand, not to keep quiet, there was no one to hear, but to stop herself from breaking wider.
Maybe she hadn’t meant to betray him. Ren's kiss hadn’t felt like betrayal in the moment, just a fleeting escape, a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. But it was. And the worst part wasn’t that Tharion might never forgive her. It was that she couldn’t forgive herself. Another tear traced the curve of her jaw. She didn’t wipe it away. Let it fall. Let herself feel it, just for a minute.
Mira exhaled, just a breath before pushing forward into the tunnel. The passage was unlit, narrow and humid. The arched ceiling dipped low enough that she had to duck in places, and the damp, dust-heavy air clung to her lungs. She knew where this tunnel led. The Grand Hall, the kitchens, the attendant’s quarters. She let her fingers trail along the familiar curves of the stone, steadying herself as she moved. A draft stirred the stale air. This passage had always been meant for quiet, unseen movement. She’d walked this tunnel before. Dozens of times. But tonight, it felt different. Lonelier. The light filtered through narrow slits in the wall, thin beams cutting across her path like cautions she didn’t have time to heed. A turn. Another.
Mira barely had time to react before she nearly collided with a broad chest. She caught the faint glint of a white apron in the dim light. Brahn. He filled the tunnel completely, arms crossed, gaze assessing. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then he smirked, voice dry. “Mira, most people use the actual hallways.”
She let out a breath that might have been a laugh if it didn’t feel so fragile. “Maybe I wanted to disappear for a minute.”
Brahn tilted his head, studying her more closely now.“And did it work?” She shrugged, too tired to be clever. He shifted slightly, giving her room in the narrow space.“Mira, what's wrong?”
She didn’t answer right away. But the tunnel made her too close to Brahn to lie comfortably. “I overheard something,” she said at last. “Something at the nobles’dinner, Asric. He’s planning something.”She would never utter Torvyn’s name. She would protect her brother until her dying breath.
Brahn’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture did. A small straightening. A sharpening. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” she said. “I didn’t hear everything. Just enough to know something’s coming.”
