chapter 10:

a thank you shouldn't feel like a confession

The next time I see Syviel he looks... wrong.

Not injured, not afraid, just off.

I don't even know what that means for a demon. I didn't think they could look off.

He stands near the stone railing, half-draped over it like usual, but there's a stiffness to him that wasn't there before. His posture, normally languid and self-assured, is too still. Tense in a way that doesn't suit him. His fingers tap an idle rhythm against the ledge, but it's not the same kind of absentminded amusement he usually carries. It's something else.

Something uneasy.

The shadows around him don't quite settle right.

I slow my steps, my pulse ticking just a little too fast as I stop a few feet away. "You look like you had a bad night."

Syviel doesn't turn. He exhales through his nose, slow and careful, before finally flicking his gaze toward me. His eyes are shadowed, his usual easy smirk nowhere to be found.

"For once," he mutters, "I wasn't the one causing it."

That shouldn't make my stomach twist the way it does.

I hesitate. "What happened?"

He doesn't answer right away. His fingers still against the stone, and for a second, I think he might just ignore the question entirely. But then, with a slow exhale, he says, "Careful, little fae. That almost sounded like concern." Before I can move past the indignant noise that leaves my throat and object to the sentence, he adds, "And you should ask your angel that."

I hate the way my breath catches.

There's something in the way he says it—your angel—something edged, something not quite resentment, but not far from it either.

Not anger. Not mockery. Just... something else.

A weight settles in my chest. I step closer, carefully. "What did they want?"

Syviel's mouth presses into a thin line. Then, finally, he sounds too casual when he says, "Answers."

My fingers twitch at my sides. "And did you give them any?"

A pause. Then, slowly, "Some."

That doesn't sit right with me.

Syviel loves games. Loves talking in circles, loves slipping just enough information to make you feel like you're almost understanding, but never enough to actually get there.

But this? This doesn't feel like a game. This feels like he didn't have a choice.

I press my lips together, shifting my weight. "And?"

Syviel exhales, rolling his shoulders like he's shaking something off. "And now they know what I know." His gaze settles on me, too heavy, too focused. "The real question is: what are you going to do about it?"

I clench my jaw. "What does that mean?"

Syviel tilts his head slightly with the faintest flicker of a smirk that looks nothing like the one I saw on his face the first time we met.

"It means you're running out of time, little fae."

-

The sun has begun its slow descent by the time I find Elisar.

They're exactly where I expect: outside the academy, near the tree-lined paths where the world feels thinner, the air holding a strange kind of stillness.

They're not alone.

Amaris stands beside them, her expression poised, unreadable, the gold of her earrings catching the last light of day as she tilts her head slightly. Whatever conversation they were having, I just interrupted it.

I don't have the time or patience to worry about that right now.

Elisar turns at the exact moment I step into the clearing, and something in their gaze sharpens. Not alarm, just... knowing. A quiet acknowledgment of the look on my face, of whatever storm is coiling behind my ribs.

Amaris notices it too.

She doesn't say anything at first. Just takes me in, expression flickering almost imperceptibly before she exhales and steps back.

"I'll be back."

Elisar doesn't look away from me. But as Amaris moves to leave, they lift a hand slightly, stopping her with nothing but the faintest movement.

"Do not stray too far," they say, calm and absolute.

It's more a request than a command, which feels rare for someone like Elisar.

Amaris stills. Something unreadable passes through her gaze before she nods once and disappears into the fading light.

Then, Elisar shifts their full focus back to me.

I don't speak right away.

There's too much to say. Too much I don't know how to say.

So instead, I just exhale, raking a hand through my hair before saying, "What did you do to him?"

Elisar watches me for a moment, expression unreadable. They don't have to ask who I mean. Then, in a voice as steady as ever, they say, "What was necessary."

I tighten my jaw. "That's not an answer."

Elisar doesn't blink. Doesn't shift. Their presence is steady, poised, as if they exist just slightly apart from the rest of the world. The way they always do. But I notice now, more than I did before, the way the weight of them lingers. The way the air doesn't quite move the same way around them.

They are still. Unshaken. Untouched.

Syviel wasn't.

I exhale sharply, the unease in my chest curling tighter. "Did you hurt him?"

Elisar's head tilts, just slightly. "Would that bother you?"

I swallow. I don't answer. Because I don't know.

Syviel is a demon. He's always played by different rules; ones I don't fully understand, ones I shouldn't care about. I shouldn't care. But something about the way he looked today, the tension beneath his skin, the way his usual easy arrogance had felt just a little too stretched, a little too forced.

And that puts me in a tough spot about how I'm supposed to feel about the angel in front of me.

I shift my weight, crossing my arms over my chest. "I don't—" I stop. Drag a hand down my face, nails pressing against my jaw before I shake my head. "I don't know. But I'd like to know what you did to him before I start making up my own theories."

Elisar considers that, gaze still unreadable. "I asked him a question."

I let out a sharp breath. "Oh, well, that clears everything up."

A pause. Then, so evenly that it almost sounds like a warning:

"He answered."

That shouldn't make something cold settle beneath my ribs.

I press my tongue against my teeth, exhaling through my nose before shaking my head again. "You're impossible."

Elisar doesn't argue.

The evening light slants lower through the trees, cutting thin golden lines through the shadows. The hush of the world around us feels heavier than it should, stretching just a little too long. I shift again, hands settling against my hips before I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off whatever's pressing against my ribs.

Elisar waits.

And I realize, with a strange kind of weight in my chest, that they always wait.

They wait for me to ask. For me to understand. For me to figure out whatever it is they aren't saying.

My throat feels dry.

I force my voice steady. "What did he tell you?"

Elisar is silent for a moment longer, like they're weighing something unseen, considering the shape of the air before letting words slip into it. Then, finally:

"He confirmed that your death was not a mistake."

I don't move.

I already knew that.

But hearing it again, from them, from a demon, from something bound to truth in ways that aren't always clear... it settles like a stone in my chest.

I exhale slowly. "And what did he want for it?"

Elisar doesn't answer right away.

Not because they don't know.

Because they do.

I can tell—for whatever reason—they don't want to tell me.

The pause stretches too long, pressing against the back of my ribs. Then, finally, Elisar says, voice as steady and quiet as ever:

"You."

The word lands heavier than I expect.

I blink. "What?"

Elisar holds my gaze, expression unshifting. "That was his price."

I shake my head, a quiet, humorless laugh slipping out before I can stop it. "That's..." I stop myself, pressing my fingers to my temple. "That doesn't make any sense." When Elisar doesn't respond, I exhale sharply, dropping my hand, my fingers clenching briefly before I shove them into my pockets. "And what did you say?"

Elisar lifts their chin just slightly. "I said no."

The words should be a relief. A simple, final answer.

But they aren't.

Because something about the way Elisar says it—calm, absolute, unwavering—makes my pulse stutter in a way I don't fully understand.

I should ask what Syviel even meant by that. I should ask why he would want me, what he could possibly gain from something like that. But instead, I find myself staring at Elisar, at the quiet certainty in their expression, at the slight lift of their chin, at the steadiness in their voice when they said no.

And something about it makes my throat feel tight.

I shift my weight, fingers curling inside my pockets. My voice is quieter than I expect when I say, "Why?"

Elisar's head tilts just slightly. "Why what?"

I shake my head, a breath slipping out uneven. "Why say no?"

Elisar studies me, gaze unreadable. But I see the way their posture remains perfectly still, measured, as if holding something back.

I force out a laugh, but I'm pretty sure comes out a little hysterical. "Not that I wanted you to say yes, obviously. I'd rather not find out what being a demon's price actually entails, but—" I stop myself, exhaling sharply. My heart is beating too fast, an unfamiliar pressure building behind my ribs. I run a hand through my hair, trying to ground myself. "You don't care about things like that. About people like that."

Elisar doesn't flinch. Doesn't frown. But something about them shifts.

And I don't mean physically.

It's something in the air. In the weight of them.

And then, after a too-long silence, they say, "You do not know me, fae."

My breath catches at the last word. It's not the word itself. It's the way they say it. The way it settles deep in my chest, threading through my ribs like something I should have been expecting but wasn't.

They didn't say it like Syviel did, all teeth and amusement, something sharp curling beneath his voice, something meant to make me feel small.

They said it like something meant to belong to me.

I force out a breath, a quiet laugh slipping through my teeth, thin and frayed at the edges. "I..." I stop, shake my head, try again. "That's the second time someone's called me that today."

Elisar doesn't blink. "And?"

And?

And Syviel said it like it was a joke, I want to tell them. Like something to toy with.

And Elisar says it like it means something.

Like it matters.

I swallow hard. My fingers curl slightly at my sides. "Nothing," I murmur, voice a little too uneven. "It's just... different, coming from you."

Elisar doesn't react at first. Just watches me, gaze steady, unreadable. Then so quiet I almost don't hear it:

"It should be."

Something inside me stops.

My pulse thrums, too fast, too loud in my ears.

"Can I ask you another question?" I ask instead of letting my head fully process their words, because if I think too much about what they said to me just now, my head might blow into a million little pieces.

Their eyes flick to me and I wonder if the lightness I catch in them for a split-second is just me being delusional again. "You're asking for permission today?"

I scoff, too quickly. "Don't get used to it."

Elisar doesn't say anything to that, but I see it—the slightest shift at the corners of their mouth, the faintest ghost of something almost amused. Almost.

My stomach twists.

I drag a hand down my face, trying to shake off the heat creeping up the back of my neck. It's just Elisar being Elisar. Unbothered. Composed. Not humoring me, not teasing me, just... being. It shouldn't throw me off balance like this. It shouldn't.

And yet.

I exhale sharply, tilting my head up toward the sky for a brief second before I finally look back at them. "Why did you save me?"

When they answer me after several ticking seconds, their voice is quieter than before, but no less steady.

"I was there."

That's it.

I blink. "That's not an answer."

"It is the only one I have."

I stare at them.

There's something about the way they say it, something final. Not a deflection. Not a refusal. Just a fact, spoken like a simple truth.

I don't know what I was expecting. Maybe I thought they'd give me some grand reasoning, some celestial justification for why I—out of all the people in this world—was worth breaking their own rules for.

But instead, it's just this.

They were there.

And that was enough.

My fingers curl slightly. I exhale, the breath leaving me slow and unsteady.

Something about that answer makes my chest feel tight.

I shake my head, a quiet, breathless laugh slipping past my lips before I realize it. "You really are impossible."

Elisar doesn't disagree.

I drag a hand through my hair, trying to ground myself. I feel strange. Not bad, not unsettled, just... like I'm standing too close to something I don't quite know how to touch yet.

A beat of silence stretches between us. Then, before I can overthink it, I murmur, "Well, I still don't understand why you did it and why you're still helping, but... thank you." I don't think I've said that yet. I should have.

Elisar's gaze flickers, almost imperceptibly.

And then, for the first time since this conversation started, something shifts. Not in their stance, not in their expression—those remain as composed as ever—but in the way they feel. In the way their presence, normally distant, unreachable, untouched, seems to soften. Just a fraction.

The kind of shift that isn't visible but felt, like the easing of weight off tired shoulders, like a quiet acknowledgment in a room where no words need to be spoken.

And then, with the same quiet certainty as always, they say, "You are welcome, Soren."

But it's different this time.

Not an obligatory response. Not a dismissal.

It is... gentle.

Like something deliberately placed in my hands, like something fragile being offered rather than withheld.

Something I wasn't expecting from them.

My pulse stutters.

By the way the corner of their mouth shifts; a flicker of movement—not quite a smile—but something close, I know they could somehow tell.

And that's how I know the dark ones and someone unknown out there wishing death upon me are not going to be the only problems I have to deal with.

a/n

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wc: 20445 (18002 + 2443)