Page 50 of Elemental Becoming

“I should have,” he chokes out.

I feel that too—the sharp edge of his self-loathing, the way it cuts into him.

I tighten my hold.

Because I know this weight. And I will not let him carry it alone.

The shadows ripple around him, shifting, embracing.

I slip my fingers into his hair, resting my forehead against his as silent tears fall. I cry with him. For his mother. His father. The boy who carried too much, too soon. For the man I have fallen for.

I don’t know how long we stay like this. Kneeling on the balcony, wrapped in silence, his grief pressing into me through the bond. Eventually, his breathing begins to even out. A long breath leaves him, and I feel the moment he starts pulling himself back together.

His grip loosens slightly, but I don’t let go. Not yet.

Because for the first time since I’ve known him, Thane isn’t just showing his emotions. He is unraveling.

And it’s unsettling.

The warlord, the unshakable force, the man who has always been so fierce and immovable—this is not him.

Or maybe . . . maybe this is him. The part no one was ever meant to see. The part he’s hidden.

I ease back just enough to look at him. His eyes are swollen, rimmed red. His jaw tight, like he’s forcing himself back into control.

I brush my fingers along his jaw, wiping away the damp streaks beneath his eyes. He blinks, like he’s only just realizing he had been crying.

“Thane,” I say softly.

“I’m sorry.” A shaky laugh escapes his lips. “Two nights in a row of me breaking down.”

I shake my head immediately. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

He watches me for a moment, then nods.

I take his hand again, pressing my palm to his.

“We’ll figure this out,” I say quietly. “We’ll find the truth. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

He watches me for a long moment, something achingly fragile in his storm-gray eyes.

Then, finally, he exhales. “Okay.”

His fingers curl around mine, hesitant. I squeeze his hand to let him know I’m with him. Always with him.

For a long time, neither of us speaks. The night stretchesaround us, the wind stirring gently across the balcony. The bond hums between us, but softer now, no longer insistent—just there. Present. Waiting.

I don’t push him to talk. Because I know what it is to be swallowed whole by something too heavy to carry, to be crushed beneath the weight of it, to not even know where to begin.

Eventually, his breath evens out. His grip loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” he murmurs at last. His voice is hoarse, like the words scrape their way out.

I shift closer, my forehead nearly touching his temple. “You don’t have to do anything. Not tonight.”

His jaw clenches, his shoulders pulling inward again. “I can’t just . . . sit here.”

Always a man of action.