Aeliana's recovery was slow, but steady. Each day, she grew stronger, and with that strength came a return to the woman I had first met a fierce, unyielding warrior who could hold her own in any fight.
Watching her regain that fire, bit by bit, should have been a relief. It should have meant that soon, we could go back to our usual dynamic me, the aloof and untouchable leader, and her, the resentful but loyal hunter.
But the truth was, I wasn't sure I wanted that anymore. Not after everything that had happened. Not after the way she had looked at me when she first woke up in that infirmary bed, confused and vulnerable.
I hated how much time I was spending with her, hated how every day brought with it another layer of confusion and frustration.
But no matter how much I tried to distance myself, I found myself drawn back to her side, over and over again. Part of it was obligation I had to make sure she was ready to fight again. The other part... well, that was something I didn't want to examine too closely.
It started with simple things. I'd help her out of bed, making sure she didn't push herself too hard. I'd guide her through her exercises, my hands steady on her shoulders or waist as she struggled to regain her balance. And every time our skin touched, it was like a live wire, sending a jolt through me that I couldn't ignore.
"Stop babying me, Ciara," Aeliana grumbled one morning as I helped her stretch her legs. Her tone was sharp, but there was no real bite to it. If anything, she sounded almost... playful.
"Stop acting like a baby, and maybe I will," I shot back, smirking down at her.
Her eyes narrowed, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. "You're an asshole, you know that?"
"Yeah, I know," I replied, my voice tinged with a sarcasm I didn't really feel. In truth, her words stung more than they should have, because a part of me wondered if that was all I really was to her a jerk, a heartbreaker, someone she couldn't trust. "But you need to stretch, so shut up and do it."
She rolled her eyes, but she didn't argue. Instead, she complied, gritting her teeth as she pushed through the discomfort. I watched her carefully, noting the way her muscles tensed and relaxed with each movement.
She was getting stronger, faster than I had expected. It should have been a good thing. It was a good thing. But it also meant that soon, this strange, tense closeness we'd developed would come to an end. And the thought of that left a bitter taste in my mouth.
As the days passed, our interactions became less hostile, though they were still far from comfortable. We'd exchange barbs, trade insults, but there was a lightness to it that hadn't been there before.
Sometimes, when I caught her laughing really laughing, not the sarcastic bark of humor she usually threw my way it felt like a victory. And that feeling scared the hell out of me.
One afternoon, as I was helping her through another round of exercises, she surprised me by asking, "Why do you care so much?"
The question caught me off guard. I paused, my hands stilling where they rested on her arms. "What do you mean?"
"You've been... different," she said slowly, as if choosing her words carefully. "Since the battle. I don't know. It's like you actually give a shit about what happens to me."
I snorted, trying to mask the unease her words stirred up. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm just making sure you're not dead weight on the team."
"Bullshit," she said, her voice sharper now. "You've been here every damn day, Ciara. Helping me, taking care of me. That's not something you'd do if you didn't care. So what is it?"
I let out a long breath, my gaze dropping to the floor. She was right, of course. I had been here every day, and it wasn't just out of duty. But admitting that, even to myself, felt like a betrayal of everything I had tried to build this image of myself as someone who didn't need anyone, who didn't care about anyone.
"I don't know," I finally said, my voice low. "I don't know why I'm doing this."
She studied me for a long moment, and I could feel her eyes on me, like she was trying to peel back the layers of bullshit I'd wrapped around myself. "I don't buy that," she said quietly. "But maybe you don't either."
I clenched my jaw, irritation flaring up. "Drop it, Aeliana."
She didn't push the issue, but I could tell she wasn't satisfied with my answer. Hell, I wasn't satisfied with it either. But what the fuck was I supposed to say? That I cared about her? That the thought of losing her had scared me more than I wanted to admit? That every time she winced in pain, it felt like a knife twisting in my gut?
No. I couldn't say any of that. Not to her. Not to anyone.
Instead, I did what I always did I deflected. "You're making progress," I said, steering the conversation back to safer ground. "If you keep this up, you'll be back to full strength in no time."
She let out a huff, clearly frustrated by my evasion, but she didn't press further. "Yeah, well, that's the plan, isn't it?"
"Damn right it is," I replied, forcing a grin. "And then you can go back to hating my guts like usual."
She didn't laugh. Instead, she just looked at me, her expression unreadable. "Maybe I don't hate you as much as I thought I did," she murmured, almost too quietly for me to hear.
I froze, the words hitting me like a punch to the stomach. For a moment, I didn't know how to respond. I wasn't even sure if I had heard her right. But the look in her eyes—soft, vulnerable—told me that she meant it.
"Aeliana..." I started, but the words died in my throat. What could I say? That I didn't want her to hate me? That I didn't want to be the person who broke her heart, who made her feel like she couldn't trust anyone? But I was that person. I always had been.
She shook her head, cutting me off before I could continue. "It's fine," she said, her voice a little too brisk. "Forget I said anything."
But I couldn't forget it. The words lingered in my mind, gnawing at me, making it harder and harder to keep up the façade I had built around myself. Because the truth was, I didn't want her to hate me. And the more time I spent with her, the more I realized that maybe, just maybe, I didn't hate her either.
We continued our sessions, day after day, each one marked by the same mix of tension and something else something I was too scared to name. I could see the way she looked at me, the way her eyes would soften when she thought I wasn't paying attention.
And I hated it. I hated how much I wanted to reach out to her, to pull her close and tell her that I was sorry for everything, that I was trying, but I didn't know how to be the person she needed me to be.
One evening, as we were wrapping up another round of exercises, Aeliana caught my hand before I could pull away. The touch was electric, sending a shiver down my spine.
"Ciara," she said softly, her voice tinged with something that sounded almost like... hope. "Why do you keep pushing everyone away?"
I stared at her, my heart pounding in my chest. This was it—the moment where I could either be honest with her, or push her away for good. And for the first time in my life, I didn't want to push her away.
"I... I don't know," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's just... easier that way."
"Easier?" she repeated, her tone incredulous. "Easier to be alone? Easier to pretend like you don't care?"
I clenched my jaw, anger and frustration bubbling up inside me. "Yeah, easier," I snapped. "Because when you care, people leave. They die. And then what? You're left with nothing. I've seen it happen too many fucking times, Aeliana. So yeah, it's easier."
Her grip on my hand tightened, and I could see the determination in her eyes. "But what if they don't leave? What if they stay? What if you actually let someone in and they stay?"
I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe that she could be different, that we could be different. But the fear was too strong, the walls I had built around myself too thick.
"I don't know how to do that," I said, my voice cracking.
She let out a soft sigh, her thumb brushing gently over the back of my hand. "Maybe you don't have to know. Maybe you just... try."
Her words were so simple, but they cut through the bullshit, through the layers of defense I had built up over the years. Maybe she was right. Maybe I didn't have to have all the answers. Maybe I just had to try.
But trying meant being vulnerable, and that was something I wasn't sure I could do.
"I'm not good at this," I muttered, looking away. "At... whatever this is."
"Neither am I," she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. "But maybe we can figure it out together."
Together. The word echoed in my mind, and for the first time, it didn't scare me as much as it should have.
"Yeah," I said slowly, meeting her gaze. "Maybe we can."
The tension between us didn't disappear,it was still there, a palpable thing that hung in the air, heavy and thick . But there was something else too, something new. A connection that hadn't been there before, forged in the fire of our shared pain and tempered by the quiet moments of recovery.