Page 79 of Unravelled
“You say it was to protect us,” she continued, voice measured but cutting. “But this wasn’t protection, it was control. You made sure we couldn’t move, couldn’t question, because we didn’t know enough to act."
"That’s not true," Ren said, desperation thickening in his voice. "You were the only person I wanted to tell. Navigators, Mira, I wanted you to know more than anyone."
He reached for her hand, fingers brushing against hers. She pulled hers away. "But the moment I let you in, you became leverage. You know what this court is, what they’d do if they knew you remembered who I really am."
His eyes flicked to Tharion. A single glance. Quick. Reflexive. She saw the shift. Her breath caught in her throat. She turned to Tharion slowly, deliberately, as though the movement itself might hold her together.
“You knew.” Her voice was quiet, brittle as cracked glass.
Tharion opened his mouth. Closed it. His silence said everything.
Ren’s voice broke. “Tharion knew. He’s known since he was a boy. He was brought here to protect me. But you...” His voice cracked, raw and frayed. “They couldn’t trust you...”
Mira blinked. The pieces clicked into place. Her lips parted, but no sound came. The realization, slow and final. It had been only her. She was the one who had been erased. The Queen had taken her memories. Not Tharion’s. Hers. To protect Ren.
Every strange glance, every hesitation, every shard of distance she’d blamed on Tharion’s and her fractured past. It had never been that. It had just been space. Chosen. Maintained.
She took a breath, and it didn’t reach her lungs. The room seemed to close in on her, the shadows thickening, the air too thin.
She pushed the door handle, “I... I can’t... I don’t...”
Her vision blurred, the world narrowing to the two men before her, one pleading, the other a sentinel. Ren's face was a storm of grief and desperation as he continued to talk. Tharion remained still, the weight of his own choices etched into every hard line of his body.
Tharion's voice was soft, almost a whisper. “We thought we were protecting you, but you deserve the truth, Mira. You deserved it then, and you deserve it now,”
“I can’t be here,” Mira breathed.
She shoved the door open with more force than intended, the impact echoing through the space. Her breath caught as she stumbled backward through the threshold, barely holding herself upright. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t.
21
Mira rushed through the palace’scorridors. Her steps were fast and uneven, like she wasn’t fully connected to the floor beneath her. She should have returned to her quarters, shut the door. But the thought of silence, true silence, was too much. Too sharp. Too final.
Her feet turned, familiar with the path even as her mind spun. She found herself at Torvyn’s door. He had always been her rock, even when everything else was falling apart. The door creaked open at her touch. Empty. His cloak was missing, the hearth unlit. Only the faint scent of rosewood lingered. She blinked hard against the sting in her eyes and turned. If he wasn’t here, he was likely in the library.
The library candles burned low in their sconces, soft pools of amber light. She stepped between them, her fingers grazing the worn spines, letting their presence ground her. She found Torvyn by the arched window, slouched in a familiar velvet-backed chair, a book resting forgotten on his lap. His eyes were closed, snoring.
“Torvyn,” she said. It came out more breath than word. His eyes flew open and he lifted his head at once. As soon as he saw her, his expression changed, weariness gave way to worry.
“Mira?” He stood quickly, the book sliding to the floor. “What’s wrong?”
She wanted to answer, but her voice caught. The words didn’t know how to shape what she was feeling. Instead, she stepped into him. Her fingers clutched the front of his shirt as the tears came, silent and hot. He pulled her close without hesitation. One arm wrapped tight around her shoulders, the other hand smoothing down her back. His presence steadied her, but it couldn’t quiet the ache beneath her ribs.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured.
She let herself breathe against him, jaw clenched as her mind spun with too many truths she couldn’t say out loud. She had trusted him, believed in Tharion. In them. That was the worst of it. She had trusted his steadiness, his quiet strength. She had believed in the version of them that chose love over duty. But he had lied. Over and over. And now all that belief felt like a wound she’d given herself.
Torvyn held her as the sob built low in her chest. She didn’t let it out. She wouldn’t give it that much space, not when she was the one who had let her guard down.
“What happened?” he asked, voice quiet but laced with steel. “Mira, if someone...”
She shook her head, cutting him off. “It’s not like that.” Her voice was raw. “It’s just... I should’ve this seen coming. Things I should’ve known better than to hope for.”Torvyn leaned back enough to see her face, his brows drawn in concern.
“I thought I could trust them,” she whispered. Torvyn said nothing, just pulled her closer, arms tightening around her.
A bitter breath escaped her. “I feel so stupid...”
He didn’t flinch. “You feel stupid because of who you trusted,” he said softly. “But trust isn’t a mistake, Mira. They just weren’t worthy of it.”
