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Chapter 109 - Chapter109

Deborah's POV

Standing before Chad's house, a wave of unease washed over me. The truth was, I wasn't here for Chad—I was here for Matthew. And if Chad happened to be out, it might make things easier.

I knocked softly, the sound barely audible against the quiet street. A heartbeat later, the door creaked open.

Matthew stood there, his face a canvas of surprise and hesitation. "Deborah?" he murmured, his voice low, as though he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

I parted my lips to speak, but before I could utter a word, his hand clasped mine. With a firm tug, he pulled me inside, his movements sharp and decisive, as though driven by instinct. The door closed behind us with a soft click, his actions deliberate yet swift—like someone determined to avoid drawing unnecessary attention.

As the door clicked shut, the tension in his posture softened. He turned to me, his gaze meeting mine with a warmth that felt both familiar and foreign. His eyes held a depth I hadn't seen in a long time, and before I could say anything, he stepped closer.

His lips brushed against mine, tentative at first, as though testing the boundaries of what was left between us.

For an instant, the world around me blurred into nothingness.

It had been too long—too many days, months, and years since we had been this close.

The kiss carried a quiet reverence, each movement steeped in memory and longing. His lips, cool at first, warmed against mine, igniting a familiar ache that spread through me like the dawn breaking through the clouds. In that moment, the weight of loss and distance fell away, leaving only the fragile, unspoken bond we once shared.

His hands trembled slightly as they touched me, and I could feel the restraint in his every move. It wasn't desperation—it was patience, a quiet insistence that he was still here, still willing to be the person I could lean on. The way he kissed me was deliberate, as though he were pouring all his unspoken words into this single moment, telling me everything he couldn't say aloud.

The room around us was still, save for the faint rustle of the wind outside. Sunlight filtered through the windows, casting soft patches of golden light across the wooden floor. It was peaceful, grounding, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to simply feel. For a fleeting moment, it was as if we had gone back to the way things used to be—before Mary's death, before the wedge had driven us apart. Back to when everything between us had been easy and unbroken.

But as my eyes fluttered open, my gaze caught on the wall behind him.

A photo wall.

A collage of photographs stared back at me—a gallery of another life. Chad and I, captured in frozen moments of joy, our laughter preserved in the glossy stillness of film. Those images weren't just memories—they were ghosts, haunting fragments of a happiness I could no longer reach. They loomed over the present, heavy and unrelenting, casting a shadow over this fragile moment.

The warmth in my chest turned cold.

I pulled away from Matthew, taking a small step back. My gaze fell to the floor, avoiding his eyes.

In a house that still held the memories of Chad and Lianora, this intimacy with Matthew felt painfully out of place.

He must have sensed my shift in mood. His expression softened, the warmth giving way to a quiet confusion. But he didn't press me. He simply stood there, waiting.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself before speaking. "We should… sit down and talk."

The room felt heavier now, the air charged with an awkward tension.

We moved to the sofa, sitting opposite each other. His gaze lingered on me, searching for answers I wasn't ready to give.

"You haven't been around for days," he said finally, his voice carrying a mix of concern and curiosity. "What have you been doing?"

"I went to Ablach," I replied, meeting his eyes.

"Ablach?" His brows lifted in surprise. "One of the Sky Cities?"

"Yes." I nodded, my tone quiet but firm. "While I was there, I met some werewolves from Tirfothuinn."

His expression shifted instantly, the lightness in his gaze replaced by worry. "Werewolves? How are they? Are they safe?"

"For now," I said, my voice steady. "But I also saw others."

"Others?" His brow furrowed. "What others?"

"They were also from Tirfothuinn," I said, hesitating as I recalled their unique appearance. "They had silver eyes. They're called Birdfolk."

"Birdfolk?" He looked at me, confusion flickering in his eyes. "I've never heard of them."

"They likely migrated to Tirfothuinn from Gorias," I explained. "Their bodies are incredibly light, and they have the ability to manifest large wings. They can fly, much like the airships used by the Sky Cities."

His expression brightened with intrigue. "They can fly? That's incredible. So, the werewolves… they got to Macha because of these Birdfolk?"

I nodded. "Yes. But I've already urged them to return to Tirfothuinn. Security in the Sky Cities is too tight now. The longer they stay, the more dangerous it becomes."

Matthew's jaw tightened, his brow furrowing as he processed this. "But why would they risk coming here in the first place? What were they trying to accomplish?"

"Because a few days ago, Macha launched a large-scale attack on Tirfothuinn," I said quietly, my tone growing heavier.

Matthew's reaction was immediate. He shot up from the sofa, his voice sharp with anger. "What? Macha attacked Tirfothuinn? What happened? Is Tirfothuinn—?"

"They're holding on," I interrupted gently, trying to calm him. "Recently, some new residents arrived in Tirfothuinn. Among them were witches. They banded together to reinforce Sanctuarium."

His shoulders relaxed slightly, relief evident in the way he exhaled. "That's… good. But you don't look like someone delivering good news."

I hesitated, then nodded grimly. "Because it came at a price. They managed to protect Sanctuarium, but it cost them dearly. Several witches were gravely injured. And two of them… didn't make it."

The tension in Matthew's body returned with a vengeance. His fists clenched at his sides, his breathing growing uneven as he tried to contain the fury rising within him.

"Two witches… sacrificed themselves to keep Tirfothuinn safe," he said, his voice low and taut with restrained emotion.

I could see the fire in his eyes, the way his anger simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. It wasn't just rage—it was helplessness, frustration, and the deep pain of knowing his people had once again suffered because of the greed and cruelty of others.

"These bastards," he muttered through gritted teeth. "They keep coming after Tirfothuinn, over and over, without any regard for the lives they destroy…"

"That's why we have to be even more careful," I said softly, hoping to redirect his focus. "Macha's attack was only the beginning. Their plans are far from over, and we can't afford to underestimate them."

He didn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the window. His expression was cold, unyielding.

I knew his anger wasn't just about the witches' sacrifice—it was about the pattern, the relentless targeting of Tirfothuinn, the endless cycle of loss.

And I knew I couldn't let this continue.

Tirfothuinn needed more than defenses. It needed weapons. It needed a fighting chance.