Page 175 of Bitten & Burned
Some from Thalia, but most were from Silas.
Most I’d opened, but a few I hadn’t. Things had started happening too quickly, and now? They were bundled up with all the others I’d received while I had stayed in Kravenspire.
I set my tea down and rose gently, walking to where I’d left my bag. I knelt to pull the stack of letters out, and I took them back to the couch.
I settled against the cushions, letters in my lap. Some envelopes were creased from travel. Others were pristine, too clean, like they’d been waiting for a day I never got around to. I thumbed through the stack until I found his handwriting.
I knew it instantly.
Always the same ink. Always the same neat, slanted script. Effortless. Controlled.
Like him.
“Reading time?” Quil asked from the kitchen, where he was uncorking something amber in color.
“Unfortunately,” I murmured. “Don’t worry, it’s not research.”
Quil didn’t reply, but I heard the faint clink of glass against the counter. He was giving me space. And that—more than anything—meant he knew. Knew I wasn’t reading these for comfort.
Vael, however, didn’t move. He lowered himself into the chair opposite me, eyes fixed on the stack. “Are you sure you want to read letters from him, Rowena?” His tone was even, but there was no mistaking the tension beneath it.
“Maybe there’s something there…” I murmured. “Something explaining why…”
“You’re not going to find answers there. Only more questions,” Vael warned.
“I’m great with questions,” I said quietly, sliding a finger beneath the first seal.
Vael exhaled sharply through his nose, but didn’t press. “Very well. But don’t mistake his words for anything but snares.”
I peeled open one of the still-sealed letters. The paper crackled like it had a heartbeat.
My dear Rowena,
You are, as ever, too clever for your own good. I admire it more than I can say, though I do wish you’d learn when to stop digging.
Sometimes, my girl, the truth isn’t a treasure buried beneath the surface—it’s a trap. And you spring it every time.
I blinked. Reread it.
Then again.
And gods. How had I ever thought this was affection? How had I ever missed the shape of that warning?
Not “my brilliant Rowena”. Not “I’m proud of you.
Just: “stop digging.”
I swallowed, flipping to the next page.
I know you don’t mean to be disobedient. You never do. But your curiosity makes you vulnerable. Your pain makes you reckless. I only want to keep you safe.
My stomach turned.
He wasn’t praising me. He was diagnosing me. Dismantling me. Piece by piece.
He didn’t see me as powerful.
He saw me asmanageable.
