Gaia

I watch Lysander pace anxiously near the edge of the bonfire, and something unexpected twists in my chest.

Sympathy.

He looks so worried. So distressed. Like he's watching his entire world crumble and doesn't know how to stop it.

'Don't,' I tell myself firmly. 'Don't feel sorry for him. He made his choice.'

But I can't help it. Part of me—a part I thought I'd buried—wants to go to him. Wants to explain that I'm not actually planning to marry someone ...