Kael didn't speak to her the next morning.
Not in silence. Not in sarcasm. Not in those low, dangerous comments that left her flushed and furious.
He simply… stayed distant.
He sharpened his blade, checked the perimeter, practiced his spells in silence. He didn't meet her eyes once.
And Lyra noticed.
She noticed everything.
She pretended it didn't bother her.
Until her magic started reacting.
The air around her shifted. Her fingers sparked even without summoning. Runes pulsed too fast, too bright. The shield on the cave walls cracked once — only for a second — but enough to remind her that something wasn't right.
She was unbalanced.
And the reason?
Him.
That night, she confronted him.
She stood at the edge of the firelight, arms folded, anger simmering under her skin.
"You've been avoiding me."
Kael didn't deny it. "Yes."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
"You know why."
"Say it."
He looked up from the dagger he was carving, jaw tense. "Because I'm bonded to someone I can't touch."
Her throat closed.
"You have touched me."
"And I wanted more."
Silence.
Kael stood, slowly, the blade in his hand lowering.
"If I keep getting close, I'll lose control."
"You think I can't handle you?" she snapped.
"I think I don't want to hurt you," he said.
The words hit her harder than magic.
Because behind the fire in his voice was fear.
Not of her.
Of himself.
"Kael…" she said, softer this time.
He took a step closer. "Do you know what devils like me were made for, Lyra?"
She didn't answer.
"We weren't built for love or loyalty. We were made to destroy. To burn. I've slaughtered entire bloodlines for less than what I feel when you look at me."
Lyra's fingers trembled.
But not with fear.
With frustration. With want. With magic that responded to his every word.
And he could feel it too.
Because the Echo Bond wasn't quiet now.
It sang between them.
She stepped forward, closing the space.
"You think this bond is a curse. I think it's the first thing that's felt real in years."
Kael's eyes darkened. "If I lose control—"
"Then I'll pull you back."
He looked at her — really looked — like she was the first light after centuries of night.
And for one terrifying moment…
He leaned in.
Just enough for his breath to touch her lips.
Just enough for her pulse to shatter.
But then—
He stepped back.
Voice rough. "Not yet."
And he walked away.
Lyra stood frozen in the firelight.
Chest heaving. Magic buzzing. Heart aching.
Not because he left.
But because for the first time in years—
She wanted someone to stay.
That night, the cave was colder.
The bond? Silent.
But in the morning, she would not wait.
And neither would her magic.