Chapter 109 The Boy Who Breaks Apart
Chapter 109 The Boy Who Breaks Apart
The silence after her confession was worse than the shouting.
It did not explode.
It hollowed.
Rowan stood exactly where she had left him—shoulders squared, eyes open, breathing steady only because he forced it to be. The words still echoed between them.
You are the reason my curse is awakening.
He had asked for the truth.
He had received it.
The bond trembled faintly, not violently as before, but fragile now—like glass under pressure.
Rowan lowered his gaze first.
Not in submission.
In devastation.
“I see,” he said quietly.
Aria’s jaw tightened. She expected anger. Denial. Argument.
Instead, she saw something far worse.
Understanding.
He stepped back once.
Then again.
The distance was small, but it felt enormous.
“I thought,” he said slowly, as if assembling the pieces out loud might make them less real, “that if I trained harder… if I controlled it better… if I stayed calm…”
His voice faltered.
“I thought the problem was me losing control.”
Aria swallowed.
“It still is,” she began.
“No.” Rowan shook his head sharply. “Not like that.”
He lifted his hands, staring at them as if seeing blood there again.
“I thought I could fix myself,” he continued. “But this isn’t just me. It’s us. And every time I get stronger… You suffer.”
The silver lines beneath Aria’s skin flickered faintly in response to his agitation.
Rowan noticed.
Of course he did.
He laughed once.
It was not a happy sound.
“I can feel it,” he whispered. “When I get close, your heartbeat changes. When I get angry, it burns. When I lose control, it tears at you.”
He took another step back.
“And I keep saying I want to protect you.”
Aria moved forward instinctively.
“Rowan—”
“Don’t,” he said quickly.
The word was soft.
But it stopped her.
“I need to think,” he said. “If I’m the reason it’s evolving… if I’m the trigger…”
He swallowed hard.
“Then I’m not your guardian. I’m your executioner.”
The bond snapped painfully at that word.
Aria felt it like a physical blow.
“You are not killing me,” she said sharply.
“Not yet,” Rowan replied.
The honesty in his tone chilled her.
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing once across the room, restless energy crackling faintly beneath his skin. The golden veins that had once signalled awakening now looked like warning lines.
“I promised I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said. “I promised I would never be the thing that makes you step away.”
He stopped walking.
“But I already am.”
Aria stepped closer again.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Rowan insisted, voice rising for the first time. “You said it yourself.”
Silence pressed in.
He inhaled sharply, chest trembling.
“If I stay,” he continued, quieter now, “your curse keeps waking up. If I leave… maybe it settles. Maybe it stops fighting.”
The thought twisted in her chest.
“That’s not how this works,” she said.
“You don’t know that,” he shot back.
His eyes shone—not gold, not feral.
Human.
Hurt.
“I don’t want to be the reason you die,” he said.
The words cracked something inside her.
“You are not—”
“What if I am?” Rowan demanded, stepping forward again despite himself. “What if one day your curse doesn’t just crack your skin? What if it shatters you because I’m too close?”
The bond pulsed violently at his fear.
Aria felt her chest tighten painfully.
“You think distance will fix it?” she asked.
“I think distance is safer than watching you burn,” he replied.
The room felt smaller.
Colder.
Rowan’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“Or there’s another way.”
Aria’s stomach clenched.
He reached for the dagger at his belt.
Not quickly.
Not dramatically.
Just… deliberately.
Aria’s breath caught.
“Rowan.”
He pulled it free, holding it loosely in his hand.
“If the curse reacts to me,” he said quietly, staring at the blade rather than her, “then remove me.”
The words hung in the air like poison.
“I’m not saying this because I want to die,” he continued. “I’m saying it because I don’t want to be the reason you do.”
Aria’s vision sharpened dangerously.
“You think I would ever—”
“I’m asking you to,” Rowan cut in.
The blade trembled faintly in his grip.
“If there’s even a chance that ending this—ending me—stabilises you…”
His throat worked.
“Then do it before I hurt you again.”
The bond convulsed.
Aria moved.
She crossed the space between them in a single step and seized his wrist before the blade could rise any higher.
The metal clattered to the floor.
Her grip was not gentle.
It was not angry either.
It was desperate.
“Don’t you dare,” she said, voice low and shaking with restrained fury.
Rowan did not resist her hold.
He looked at her with something close to relief.
“I would rather you kill me than watch you break because of me,” he said.
The confession hit harder than any accusation.
Aria tightened her grip, fingers digging into his wrist.
“You think I’m weak enough to crumble because of proximity?” she demanded.
“No,” he said immediately. “I think you’re strong enough to carry everything alone. And that’s the problem.”
She froze.
Rowan swallowed.
“You carry the curse. The pack. The war. Lila. Me.”
His voice cracked.
“You don’t get to carry me as a threat, too.”
The silver lines beneath her skin flickered again, responding to the emotional surge rather than power this time.
Aria’s chest rose and fell rapidly.
“You are not a threat to me,” she said.
“I am if I’m accelerating something that could kill you.”
Her grip on him tightened further—not to hurt, but to anchor.
“You don’t get to decide that for me,” she said.
Rowan’s shoulders shook.
“I don’t want to be the reason your curse wins,” he whispered.
“And I don’t want to be the reason you believe your existence is a mistake,” Aria shot back.
Silence fell again.
Heavy.
Breathing loud.
The dagger lay forgotten on the floor between them.
Rowan’s eyes brimmed—not with fear.
With heartbreak.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted.
Aria’s grip softened—but she did not release him.
“Then stop trying to fix it alone,” she said.
He looked at her as if he didn’t believe he deserved that option.
“I don’t want you to die because of me,” he repeated.
Aria stepped closer.
Close enough that their foreheads nearly touched.
“You don’t get to decide my death,” she said firmly. “And you don’t get to offer yours like it’s a solution.”
Rowan’s breath hitched.
The bond steadied slightly under her touch—not calm, not peaceful, but aligned enough to stop tearing.
“You are not destroying me,” she said quietly. “You are changing the battlefield.”
He blinked slowly.
“And if my curse is waking up because of you,” she added, “then maybe it’s not because you’re weakening me.”
She tightened her hold, not to restrain him—but to keep him from stepping away again.
“Maybe it’s because you’re challenging something that was never meant to be unchallenged.”
Rowan stared at her.
The weight of his despair had not vanished.
But it had shifted.
And as she held him there—not striking him, not pushing him away, but anchoring him in place—
He realised one thing with terrifying clarity.
She was not afraid of him.
She was afraid of losing him to his own belief that he was the problem.