Updated Sep 16, 2025 • ~2 min read
The days blurred into one another, the road stretching endless beneath Mira’s aching feet. She told herself she was free, but every rustle in the brush, every snap of a twig kept her nerves raw. She wasn’t alone. She would never be alone.
One evening, as the sun bled into the horizon, she caught the glint of eyes in the treeline. Gold, glowing, impossible to mistake. Her stomach clenched.
“Darius,” she whispered, though he hadn’t stepped into the open.
He didn’t. He never did. For days, she caught glimpses—his shadow on the ridge, his form vanishing when she turned, the faintest echo of his growl riding the wind. He wasn’t chasing her. He was tracking her. Guarding. Haunting.
At first, she screamed into the dark, demanding he leave her be. The forest only swallowed her cries. Then she ignored him, forcing herself to walk on, even when she felt his gaze burning between her shoulder blades.
But at night, when her fire died low and the cold crept in, she felt it—the warmth of his presence just beyond the trees. And shamefully, she let herself sleep easier knowing he was there.
On the fourth night, she snapped.
She stood at the edge of her camp, voice sharp and shaking. “You don’t get to follow me. If I left, it’s because I don’t want you!”
Silence. Then, softly, his voice carried through the dark. “Say it again. Say it, and mean it.”
Her chest heaved, the bond thrumming hot and insistent. The lie curdled on her tongue. She wanted to scream it louder, drive him away with fury. But when her lips parted, the truth slipped out instead, trembling and raw.
“I don’t know what I want.”
A long pause. Then the forest shifted as his shadow turned away, leaving her with her words, her fire, and the relentless tether that bound them still.
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