I stretch out across the hay, arms behind my head, letting out a long, lazy yawn. The barn smells like damp straw and old wood, comforting in a way only childhood places can be. Nova lies beside me, her shoulder brushing mine every so often, her gaze fixed on the open doors where silver sheets of rain blur the world beyond.

We sit in silence, the kind that isn’t peaceful anymore. Every brush of her sleeve against mine sets my nerves on edge. My wolf reacts first—an involuntary twitch beneath my skin, a low hum of recognition I can’t explain. I blame it on the way she looks at me. Too soft. Too human.

And the rain outside only makes the tension louder — like the world knows I’m trying too hard to stay calm.

This place has always been our escape. Technically, it’s meant for storing hay for the guards’ horses, but for us, it’s been a sanctuary since we were kids. A place to hide, to talk, to just be.

“This weather’s perfect,” she murmurs finally, her voice soft, content.

I sit up slightly, watching her from the side. Only half her face is visible in the dim barn light, but even that half is glowing. “I’ll never get why you love the rain so much when you’re terrified of storms.”

She turns her head toward me, her warm brown eyes catching the light and turning almost golden. “Rain is peaceful,” she says, tapping her temple like she’s sharing some profound truth. “Storms are the heavens throwing tantrums. Rain just… listens.”

I snort. “And it sounds better than my voice, apparently.”

“Exactly,” she says with a grin.

I chuckle, shaking my head. “It storms a lot here.”

Too many nights I’ve woken to soft knocks on my bedroom door. Nova, half-asleep and trembling, would slip inside and crawl under the covers beside me. 

She never said much—just curled up close, seeking comfort. I’d hold her until her breathing slowed and her heartbeat settled. It didn’t matter what responsibilities awaited me the next morning. She came first.

The storm had taken her mother once, and it never gave her back.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, sitting up and leaning against the same bale as me. “Actually, that reminds me. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

“What’s on your mind?” I ask, reaching over to pluck a few stray pieces of hay from her hair.

She bites her lower lip, a habit she’s never outgrown. That and chewing her nails until they’re barely there. It’s her tell—she’s nervous.

“I was thinking about going away for a bit this summer,” she says, her voice careful, like she’s testing the waters.

“Away?” I repeat, trying to keep my tone light.

“Just for a couple of weeks,” she explains quickly. “Not the whole summer. I still work for your mother, obviously. But I thought… maybe I could take a short trip. Clear my head.”

She turns to face me fully, her expression open and hopeful. And just like that, something cold and heavy settles in my stomach.

She deserves it. A break. A chance to breathe outside the walls of duty and expectation. I know that. I do.

But the thought of her leaving—even briefly—makes something inside me ache.

“Where would you go?” I ask, keeping my voice steady, even though everything inside me feels unsteady.

“To see the ocean,” she says softly, her voice almost dreamy. A small smile tugs at her lips, and the barn light casts a warm glow across her cheeks, like sunlight trying to break through the grey. “I want heat. Real heat. The kind that makes you sweat and complain and drink too much water.”

“You’re thinking of going alone?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual. The truth is, if I could go with her, I would. I’d take her anywhere she wanted to go. No hesitation.

She twirls a piece of straw between her fingers, her gaze drifting. “I’m not sure yet. I know you can’t come with me, and I don’t love the idea of traveling solo. It’s not exactly safe.”

I nod slowly, watching the rain outside as it continues to fall in steady sheets. Guilt creeps in, quiet but persistent.

If she becomes my mistress, if I dare claim her that way—she’ll lose everything that makes her herself. She won’t get to pack a bag and vanish to the sea whenever she pleases. She’ll belong to me.

And gods help me, a selfish part of me wants that. Wants her tethered. Wants her here, where I can find her, reach her, touch her.

I glance back at her face. She’s still smiling, still lost in her thoughts. Blissfully unaware of the storm brewing inside me.

“Take some time to think about it,” I say, my voice low. There’s so much more I want to say. So much I should say. But the words stay locked behind my teeth.

Her smile shifts, just slightly. “Don’t worry—I’ll be back in time for your wedding.”

I groan, rubbing my eyes with the heel of my hand. “You had to remind me, didn’t you?”

She smooths her hair back, narrowing her eyes at me like she’s trying to read my mind. Normally, I’d find her expression funny. But tonight, it just makes everything feel heavier.

“You know those women are going to show up soon,” she says.

“I know.”

She studies me quietly, and I can feel her gaze pressing against me even as I stare down at my hands. Nova has this uncanny ability to see through me—past the walls I’ve built, past the mask I wear. She always finds the truth, even when I don’t want her to.

“Are you okay, Cass?” she asks quietly. “You seem… off lately.”

I keep my eyes on the rain, pretending it’s more interesting than this conversation. “I’m just not looking forward to the whole marriage thing.”

She sighs, standing and brushing straw from her clothes. “We’re going to have to unpack that eventually. But right now, I need sleep before I pass out in this barn.”

“Fair enough.”

She walks toward the door, pulling her hood up against the rain. “You coming?”

“I’ll stay a little longer,” I reply. I need time to sit with these thoughts, even if they’re uncomfortable. Even if they’re tearing me up inside.

“Don’t forget the unveiling tomorrow,” she says, pausing at the doorway. “You did a good thing, Cassain. That hospital’s going to help a lot of people.”

I manage a weak smile and nod. “I won’t forget.”

“Goodnight, Cass.”

“Night,” I murmur.

She gives me one last look—soft, lingering—before stepping out into the rain. Her figure disappears into the shadows, swallowed by the storm.

I lean back against the hay, the ghost of her touch still clinging to me.

She thinks I’m worried about the wedding.

If only that were true.

I’m not afraid of marriage.

I’m afraid of her.

I’m fucked. And I know it.