Chapter 36: Everly

Chapter

Thirty-Six

EVERLY

The scent of smoke still clings to my hair and clothes as I sit on my bed, staring at the tent wall without really seeing it.

Finn's face flashes before my eyes—his kind smile, his easy laugh. Then, in an instant, it transforms into the horrified expression he wore in his final moments. I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn't help. The images keep coming. Alvina's coldness. The cruel twist of her lips as she raised her hand. The way the air shimmered around Finn, squeezing tighter and tighter until...

A choked sob escapes me, and I clap a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound.

"I'm sorry," I whisper into the empty tent. "I'm so sorry, Finn."

The tent flap shifts, drawing my attention as Cenric steps inside. My bottom lip trembles as I try to form words, but nothing comes out. He crosses the room and sits next to me, and before I can process what's happening, his strong arms wrap around me. I melt into his embrace and bury my face against his chest.

Cenric doesn't speak, and neither do I. There are no words that can fix this, no platitudes that can ease the ache in my chest.

Instead, I cling to him, my fingers digging into the fabric of his surcoat. His heartbeat thrums steadily beneath my ear as his hand moves to the back of my head, gently stroking my hair.

I draw in a shaky breath, my voice trembling as I speak. "It's my fault Finn went with me to the forest. He would still be alive if I hadn't asked him to come."

Cenric's arms tighten around me. "You needed a guard, Everly. It's not your fault. You couldn't have predicted what would happen."

I curl my fingers even tighter into his surcoat, clinging to him as if he's the only thing keeping me anchored. "But I could have lied, said I would do what she wanted. Maybe then Finn would still be here."

"You couldn't have known how ruthless Alvina is. You can't blame yourself for her actions," Cenric says as he continues to stroke my hair.

Warmth sinks into my skin as I melt deeper into his embrace, needing his comfort, his strength.

"I keep seeing his face," I whisper. "The way he looked at me right before..."

Cenric's hand moves to my back, tracing soothing circles between my shoulder blades. "I know. It's not something you forget easily."

"Does it ever get easier?" I ask, hating how small and vulnerable my voice sounds.

"Not easier. But you learn to carry it. And you honor their memory by living." Cenric's words settle over me like a balm, not erasing the pain but making it somehow more bearable.

I should pull away, maintain the distance that propriety demands, but I can't bring myself to leave the safety of his arms. So, for now, I allow myself this comfort, knowing it can't last.

Nothing does.