13. Hayden

13

HAYDEN

M y head is pounding, my throat on fire. I cast a confused glance around me, but I can’t see much beyond Cagan’s drawn face. I’m wrapped in a blanket – where did that come from? The answer becomes clear as Cagan speaks again.

“Are you okay?”

I open my mouth, but only a croak comes out. I wince at the scratching feeling. Cagan jumps up, disappearing from my eyesight for a second. When he returns, he helps me tilt my head up to drink some water from his skin. The cool liquid immediately soothes my throat. Cagan pulls back, studying my face.

“Here, let me help you sit up.” I shiver from the contact when he wraps an arm around my shoulders.

When was the last time I was touched like this? Without the intention of causing harm?

I shake off my initial shock and look at Cagan.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper despite the water.

"It's nothing," Cagan says gently. "I like to help you."

His kindness makes me pause. No one has cared for me without wanting something in return since I was a child. I search Cagan's face, looking for any sign of dishonesty, but his golden eyes hold nothing but sincerity.

"I can’t take you to my home," Cagan continues, frustration bleeding into his voice.

I hesitate, wondering if I should pry. Cagan has always been kind, bringing me food and talking to me like a real person instead of something to be used. Still, he remains a mystery in many ways. I know little of his life beyond these woods, besides that he’s from the Swordstone Clan.

Curiosity wins out. "Why are you so concerned about me?" I ask.

Cagan smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "We're friends."

Friends. The word sends an unfamiliar warmth through me. I've never had a true friend, not since Hera long ago.

"Friends watch out for each other," Cagan says. "They care. And I care about you."

My chest tightens. I'm not used to such open affection. Part of me wants to pull away, to protect myself. But a larger part wants to cling to the kindness Cagan offers.

"You've been living out here alone for so long," Cagan says sadly. "It isn't right."

I look down, blinking back sudden tears. Is that pity in his voice? No, deeper, it’s empathy. Understanding. Two things I never expected from an orc.

Cagan lifts my chin gently. "You deserve better, Hayden. A warm home. People who love you."

His words undo me. I look away, ignoring the burning in my eyes. Cagan must sense my doubt, because he releases my chin and looks around the cave.

His brow furrows with concern as he says, "You can’t live here, Hayden. This cave is no place for you."

I let out a hollow laugh. "And where would I go? I have nowhere, Cagan."

It's true. These woods are the only home I've known since my escape. Cagan searches my face, seeing the loneliness and resignation in my eyes.

"We could build you a house!" he suggests enthusiastically. "I'm good at construction."

I raise an eyebrow, skepticism flooding through me. "You would do that for me?" I've only ever relied on myself. The concept of accepting help feels foreign.

Cagan nods, undaunted by my doubtful tone. "Just something simple to keep the rain out." His hands weave through the air as he describes it.

"I don't know..." I hesitate. A house means settling down, putting roots here. That thought terrifies me. What if I need to run again?

Sensing my fear, Cagan says gently, "A sturdy shelter would help you survive out here. You deserve to be safe and comfortable."

I look away again, emotions swirling. I want to trust him, want to believe I could have an actual home. But years of pain have taught me that dreams only lead to heartbreak.

"Think about it," Cagan urges. "Offer's open."

I sigh, tipping my head back to rest against the cave wall. He means well, but this fear runs deeper than brick and mortar. Or wood and leaves, in this case.

My resolve strengthens. Hasn’t he done enough to prove I can trust him? As much as I can allow myself to trust anyone, especially an orc. I open my mouth, trying to find the right words.

"I don't actually live here," I admit quietly. "I've been sleeping in the trees, for safety. I only took shelter in this cave because of the rain."

Cagan's eyes widen in surprise. "The trees? But that's so exposed! Aren't you worried about falling?"

I let out a heavy sigh. "Of course I worry. But it's better than being caught unaware on the ground."

My muscles tense as the familiar fear rises within me.

"If they find me again..." I trail off, shuddering. I don't tell Cagan who 'they' are. My past is still shrouded in mystery to him.

Cagan's face fills with empathy, even lacking the details. "Hayden, you're safe now," he says firmly. "I won't let anyone harm you, I promise."

His fierce protectiveness surprises me. I want to believe him, but a lifetime of looking over my shoulder is hard to forget.

Cagan moves closer, keeping his motions steady to avoid startling me. "Please, let me build you a home. A real home, where you can feel protected."

My heart wavers at the longing in his voice. But the anxiety comes flooding back. "I can't, Cagan. I'm sorry. If I had a home, I wouldn't be able to run."

Hot tears spill down my cheeks. Even now, freedom means more than comfort. As much as I wish for a home, the risk is too great.

Cagan's shoulders slump, but he doesn't argue. "I understand," he says gently. "Just know my offer still stands. For whenever you're ready."

Nodding, I wipe my eyes. His patience and compassion continue to surprise me. Perhaps one day I'll find the courage to build something new.

“I’ll think about it,” I tell him. I feel an inexplicable urge to not disappoint him. I’m immediately rewarded as his face lights up.

I expect Cagan to leave after that, but to my surprise, he doesn't budge. "You need rest," he says firmly. "I'll stay and take care of you."

Shock roots me in place. No one has tended me with such care since childhood. But Cagan busies himself stoking the fire and preparing a broth, humming softly all the while.

The rich aroma makes my mouth water. When was the last time I had a proper cooked meal? Cagan hands me the bowl with a smile. I sip the broth slowly, savoring the warmth as it spreads through me.

"This is delicious, thank you," I say shyly.

Cagan grins. "My pleasure. Nothing better than a good meal to lift the spirits."

He takes my bowl, refilling it for me. I haven’t had access to spices or different vegetables, so it really is the most delicious thing I’ve eaten in a long time.

“At least your appetite is back to normal,” Cagan says with a wink.

I narrow my eyes playfully and hold out my bowl for another refill. He abides, ruffling my tangled hair when I take the bowl.

“I, uh… I brought some clothes as well. It’ll be too big, but at least you’ll be warmer.” He rubs the back of his neck as he says it, looking bashful. My heart swells in gratitude.

“Thank you,” I say softly. He turns his back to me as I change into a fur garment he brought, my wet clothes from before falling in tatters on the ground. When Cagan turns around, he grins, his eyes filled with mirth.

Over the next few hours, he continues fussing over me, bringing water and extra blankets. I'm too weak to protest, and admittedly, his doting feels... nice.

That night, a bitter chill descends with the darkness. I huddle by the fire, struggling to get warm. Cagan notices me shivering and wordlessly opens his arms in invitation.

I hesitate, fear and longing waging war within me. This level of closeness terrifies my battered heart. Yet being enveloped in his strong embrace promises such comfort.

I make my choice, nestling cautiously against his broad chest. His body heat surrounds me and I sigh, tension leaking from my muscles.

We stay that way all night, my head tucked under his chin. I drift in and out of sleep, lulled by his steady heartbeat. I can't remember the last time I felt so peaceful.

But as pale dawn light filters in, doubts creep back in. Have I made a mistake, letting him get so close? He knows nothing of the stains on my soul. Will he regret holding something so broken, so damaged, if he learns the truth?