Page 167 of Cycle Keeper’s Shadow

But she hadn’t. She’d stayed, and that was worse.

The way she’d looked at him when the memory broke unafraid of what she’d seen—like it had cracked something open in her too—terrified him more than the memories ever could.

He’d learned young how to quiet wanting with touch, how to mistake closeness for connection—dismantling his desire for something meaningful, stone by stone, scar by scar—until he’d convinced himself he’d never needed it in the first place. That was the biggest lie of all, and the stones were already dust.

He’d been with others before, Kael included, but he’d never wanted more from them than what they’d offered—a distraction to quiet the noise. Somewhere along the way his feelings for Wren had become something deeper than attraction, deeper than affection.

The truth settled hard in his chest. He couldn’t hide behind touch, not with her. Reducing Wren to temporary comfort was unthinkable. Whatever was growing between them would ask more of him than he was ready to give. And that frightened him more than he cared to admit.

Worse still, he knew he’d have gone back to her if he hadn’t forced himself to keep walking. It was selfish, but he wanted it all the same.

His thoughts spun back to the memories he’d relived. Dravek had engineered it all. His father’s death hadn’t been the beginning; it was simply his opening move. Pulling Orzen from the Pits had felt like mercy. Joining the Crimson Brand was like being chosen. He’d gained a family. A purpose.

Now he saw it clearly: not mercy—recruitment.

Dravek honed desperate children until they begged to become weapons. Orzen wasn’t the only one. Kids across the Row survived on scraps until they died in the streets, or they joined the Crimson Brand and learned how to thrive in violence.

He’d escaped, knowing he might never truly be free. The Brand chased him for more than a cycle before Orzen finally disappeared far enough to stop being a priority. But Dravek didn’t forget, and he wasn’t a man who gave up easily. If he learned Orzen was alive—if Dravek realized that he finally had something to lose, someone who mattered more than his own survival—

He’d drag her down with him.

It would end the way he feared. Death. Ruin. Wounds no hope could mend—the way everything the Brand touched ended. Orzen couldn’t do that to her. Even though everything in him wanted to go back to her.

That was why he’d rushed out in the first place. He needed time to think. If he hadn’t, he would’ve done things, said things, he couldn’t take back—things he wasn’t even ready to admit to himself. He knew he cared about her, but if he stayed close, he wasn’t sure what he would’ve let himself do. So he walked, because if he stayed, he wasn’t sure he’d leave.

The air was still warm even as the moon climbed higher. Quiet settled beneath the trees. They were safe for once, yet the peace was fully at odds with the discomfort roiling inside him.

Then, bright laughter broke the hush. Jessa and Calen rounded the corner toward the cottages, arms linked, heads tilted together like they traveled through a softer world than he did.

“Guess we’re not the only ones out—” Jessa began, but her smile collapsed when she saw his face. “Orzen?” All her usual teasing vanished, replaced by open concern.

“I’m fine.” A lie so thin he winced hearing it.

Calen’s blue-eyed gaze caught his, gentle and knowing in a way Orzen wasn’t sure what to do with. He squeezed Jessa’s hand.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Calen murmured, brushing a shy kiss to her cheek.

Jessa lingered, torn between her respect for Orzen’s privacy and her desire to help. She settled for a gentle palm on his arm, a promise of support so genuine it surprised him, then slipped away toward the soft glow behind them.

Orzen kept walking. Calen simply fell in beside him.

“I don’t need a nursemaid to hold my hand,” Orzen muttered.

“I know.” Calen shrugged. “Only thought, maybe you needed something. Even if it’s not talking.”

Orzen huffed, not quite a laugh. Let the kid stay if he wanted. Better than suffocating alone.

“Walking helps, you know, when thinking’s too much.” Calen let out a breath far too heavy for someone his age. “The Hollow was awful, right? Wish I hadn’t needed to hear Cerys’s voice like that. Somehow, it helped as much as it hurt. Heard Pa’s in there, too. It’s why Jessa pulled me out here…so it wouldn’t be so loud.”

Orzen’s stomach twisted. Calen had lost everything—his father and his home in the festival attack, his mother and twin sister cycles ago—and still he moved forward, still smiled at Jessa like he had everything he needed.

“Been doing a lot of walking myself,” Orzen muttered. “Doesn’t seem to have helped much.”

Calen glanced at him sideways. “Sometimes it works better if you’re not alone.”

“I appreciate that,” Orzen grumbled. When Calen gave him a skeptical look he said, “I do, even if it looks like I don’t.”

“You should know, you’re one of us now. Whether you like it or not.” Calen hesitated, then added, awkward and earnest, “When someone’s one of ours, we care what happens to them. Even if they never talk about anything. Ever. And still act like it’s normal.” His smirk was teasing in a way that Orzen had never seen from the boy.