Chapter 62: I did not ask for the truth

I did not sleep after that. I sat on the edge of my bed until the dark thinned into something gray and unsure. Every sound in the house felt louder than it should have been. A footstep outside my door. A cough from my mother’s room. The wind brushing against the window like it was testing whether I would look out.

The pendant lay in my palm the whole time. I did not remember picking it up again. I only knew that every time I tried to put it down, my fingers refused to open.

Nothing dramatic happened. No voices. No visions. Just this steady sense that something had shifted inside me and was now settling into place whether I wanted it to or not.

By morning, my head ached the way it does after crying too long, even though I had not cried. My eyes burned anyway. I stood, washed my face, and stared at my reflection until it started to feel unfamiliar. I looked the same. Same eyes. Same mouth. Same scar near my brow from when I fell as a child. But something about the way I held myself had changed. I noticed it only because I kept trying to relax and couldn’t.

When I stepped outside, the compound was already awake. Women moved between huts with bowls balanced on their heads. Children ran past me, laughing, kicking dust into the air. Someone called my name, then another voice answered for them before I could. Life was continuing as if nothing had happened.

That angered me more than I expected.

Xander was waiting near the outer fence. I did not know how long he had been there. He looked like he had not slept either. His eyes found me immediately, like he had been watching the doorway the whole time.

We did not greet each other.

“You felt it,” he said.

“Yes.”

“That means—”

“I know what it means,” I said, cutting him off. “Everyone seems to know things about me lately.”

He held my gaze for a moment, then nodded once. “We need to leave.”

I almost laughed. “You rejected me and now you’re telling me where I need to go.”

“This isn’t about pride,” he said. “Or the past.”

“It always is,” I replied.

He did not argue. Instead, he stepped aside, clearing the path as if to prove he was not trying to force me. That unsettled me more than if he had grabbed my arm.

“Walk with me,” he said. “If you still want to stay after, I won’t stop you.”

I walked.

We did not go far at first. Just beyond the last row of huts, where the ground dipped slightly and the trees began to crowd together. He kept a careful distance from me, close enough that I knew he was there, far enough that I could pretend I was alone if I wanted to.

“You never came back,” I said suddenly.

He stopped. I kept walking a few steps before turning to face him.

“You left,” he said.

“I waited.”

“I know.”

That answer hit harder than any excuse would have.

“You knew where I was,” I said.

“Yes.”

“And you still stayed away.”

“Yes.”

I swallowed. “Why.”

He took a breath like the word itself weighed too much. “Because every time I got close to you, things moved. Changed. And I thought if I stayed away long enough, they would stop.”

I laughed this time, short and bitter. “You thought ignoring me would protect me.”

“I thought choosing you would destroy you.”

The words landed between us and stayed there.

I looked away first. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I know that now.”

We walked again. The trees closed in, branches low enough that I had to duck. The forest smelled damp and green and alive. It felt different today. Not hostile. Not welcoming. Just aware.

Something brushed against my thoughts. Not a voice. More like pressure. Like when you realize someone is standing behind you without hearing them.

I slowed.

Xander noticed immediately. “What is it.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But it’s not outside.”

I pressed the pendant through the thin fabric of my dress. The metal was warm, like it had been sitting in the sun.

Images flickered at the edges of my mind. Not clear scenes. Just impressions. A man’s hands steady as he worked. The smell of ink. Old paper. A low voice reading aloud when he thought no one was listening.

My father.

I stopped walking.

Xander turned. “Seraphina.”

“My father,” I said. “He didn’t hide me because he was afraid of what I was.”

Xander watched my face closely. “No.”

“He was afraid of what others would do once they noticed I wasn’t lost anymore.”

The forest seemed to lean closer, as if listening.

“He knew,” I continued. “He knew that if I ever started seeing clearly, people would come. Not to help. To take.”

Xander’s jaw tightened but he did not interrupt.

“I think he hoped I would grow into it slowly,” I said. “That I would choose what to become before anyone else could name it for me.”

“And now,” Xander said carefully, “that choice is getting closer.”

“Yes.”

I turned to him fully then. “If I go with you, it won’t be because I need protection.”

“I know.”

“It will be because staying here means pretending nothing has changed.”

“And you can’t do that anymore.”

“No.”

We stood there for a long moment. No touching. No promises. Just the quiet acknowledgment of what was already in motion.

The pain came without warning.

It started low, sharp, like something pulling the wrong way. I gasped and bent forward before I could stop myself. Xander was there instantly, steadying me without pulling me close.

“I thought you said it wasn’t—” he began.

“It’s not,” I said through my teeth. “It’s something else.”

My vision blurred. The forest tilted. Not darkness this time. Heat. Pressure. Like something pushing against the inside of my ribs, trying to find space.

I straightened slowly. My hands were shaking, but my head was clear.

“That’s new,” I said.

Xander nodded grimly. “Dependence breaks don’t happen quietly.”

“So you did know this would happen.”

“I hoped it wouldn’t,” he admitted. “Not like this.”

I looked at my hands, at how steady they were becoming again. “If I had stayed asleep, this wouldn’t hurt.”

“Yes.”

“And if I stay awake.”

“It will keep happening.”

I met his eyes. “Then we’re done pretending this is about a curse or fate or destiny.”

“What is it about then.”

“Control,” I said. “And who thinks they deserve it.”

We turned back toward the deeper forest, not toward the village.

“I’m not following you because you asked,” I said as we walked. “I’m following because something inside me is already moving and I want to see where it leads before someone else decides for me.”

Xander nodded once. “That’s all I wanted.”

I almost smiled. Almost.

Behind us, the village continued its morning. Ahead of us, the forest waited. And inside me, something old and patient was waking up, not angry, not gentle, just ready.

I did not ask for the truth.

But now that it had found me, I was done running from it.