Chapter Thirty-Eight
Interrupted
from Have You Someone to Protect?
by ©Amer
The silence between them didn't break—it bent, softly and carefully, as if even the air dared not intrude. Lhady stared down at her juice, fingers wrapped loosely around the glass. She hadn't taken a sip. Caelum sat across from her now, not reaching, not speaking—only waiting.
The moment had found them again.
"I…" she began, voice barely above a breath. Her eyes flicked up to his, then away again. "That day. At the river." A hush followed. Caelum didn't move, but she felt how attentively he listened—his stillness was sharper than sound.
There was no judgment in his gaze, no pressure—but something deeper. Something patient. He wasn't waiting for her to speak. Not exactly. It was more that he was listening, even before she'd said anything.
"I didn't tell you everything," she began, and her voice was steady despite the trembling of her fingers. "About the river. About that day."
Caelum's brow shifted faintly—not in surprise, but in readiness.
"I went out because I wanted to train," she said, her eyes dropping to the glass again. "I thought if I practiced the containment sigil alone, maybe I could get better. I didn't want to rely on anyone—not even Elias. I thought I was being brave. But it was reckless."
Caelum stepped a little closer, but slowly, carefully. "And the surge?"
"I lost control," she admitted, and her voice cracked at the edge. "I couldn't hold it back in time. I—I didn't mean to draw so much power. I thought I could handle it, but I fainted before I could cast the containment fully. I woke up coughing in the river." Her fingers curled tighter around the glass. "And I panicked. I didn't know if I was still in danger or if someone would find me. I didn't know if I'd even make it out."
Caelum knelt beside her, careful not to disturb the rug beneath him. He didn't speak yet, but she could feel the weight of his attention—heavy, warm, unyielding.
Lhady continued, her voice quieter now. "I should've told you right after. But I didn't want you to be angry with me."
"I'm not angry," Caelum said, at last. His voice was low. "Only afraid. For you."
That undid something in her. She looked at him, truly looked, and in his expression, she saw the conflict that had followed them both these past few days—the restraint, the watchfulness, the aching wish to say more.
"I didn't want to disappoint you," she added, almost in a whisper.
"You didn't." The word left him quickly, as if too long held back. "You've never disappointed me, Lhady."
He took the glass from her gently and set it aside. She didn't resist. Her hands remained curled in her lap, her posture smaller now.
Caelum breathed in slowly. "I should've been there," he said. "I don't know why—I felt something was wrong, but I didn't follow the instinct. That's on me."
Lhady shook her head. "No, it was my choice to go alone. You couldn't have known—"
"I should have," Caelum said firmly, his voice low with regret. "I swore once that I would protect you. And I wasn't there when you needed that most."
Lhady looked at him, voice barely above a whisper. "You still do protect me. Just… not always the way I expect. But I've never felt abandoned by you, Caelum. It's not your—."
A flutter.
A rush of air brushed her cheek.
Something swift and feathered streaked through the room and landed squarely on Caelum's shoulder.
The magical bird. The same kind he'd summoned days ago—its glimmering wings wet from mist, eyes pulsing with faint gold. Clutched in its beak: a sliver of parchment sealed with the sigil she'd seen him draw.
Caelum turned toward it, jaw tightening just slightly.
The bird bowed its head. Urgent.
Lhady swallowed, pulse stuttering. "You should go." Caelum hesitated. "Lhady—" "It's fine," she said. And this time, she managed a smile. "Really. Whatever that is, it looks important. I'll be here when you come back."
He rose slowly, expression unreadable, and gave a short nod. "I won't be long," he said.
She watched him step toward the door, the bird still perched like a silent shadow against his cloak. Then he vanished into the hush of the cooling dusk.
The moment settled around her—not hollow, but strangely gentle. As if the unsaid things between them had softened the air instead of breaking it. She let her shoulders drop, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. For a second, the quiet felt like comfort.
From behind the counter, Elias stepped into view.
"That took guts," he said, lightly leaning on the edge of the table. His tone was quiet, not teasing this time.
Lhady blinked at him. "I meant to say everything. I really was. But I don't know if it reached him."
"I know," Elias said. "But you didn't need to." He tilted his head slightly. "He already understood."
She looked down. The sweetness of the roll had long gone cold, but something warm fluttered in her chest.
"Really?" she asked.
"Caelum watches like someone who listens before speaking. And he waits like someone who hopes without asking." Elias smiled faintly. "It's enough. For now."
Lhady let her eyes drift toward the window. Her fingers brushed the rim of her glass. She wondered what message the bird had carried. And why her chest tightened thinking about it.
But she said nothing more. Only nodded.
Upstairs felt heavier tonight, so she stayed behind the counter until her legs grew tired, then climbed up slowly and slipped under the worn covers in her room above the shop.
Sleep took her quietly.
Caelum didn't go far.
Just beyond the edge of the town square, where the rooftops thinned and shadows deepened, he stood alone beneath the cover of the alley awning, the bird still resting calmly on his shoulder.
He unsealed the parchment. One look was enough.
A symbol. A name. And the pattern that marked it: urgent contact needed—with her. The woman he'd trusted long ago with knowledge he shouldn't have shared. The one who might know more than she ever let on.
He breathed out slowly. "I'm coming," he said, voice steady and low. The bird vanished with a shimmer of light.
The moment he stepped back into the bookshop, the bell didn't chime.
He found Elias instead, lounging in the same spot near the front, leafing lazily through a book on flora binding sigils.
Caelum set down his gloves and looked up the staircase.
"She's resting," Elias said, eyes not leaving the page. "Fell asleep not long after you left."
Caelum nodded. "Did she say anything more?"
Elias gave a faint smirk. "Only that she'd wait for you." Then he closed the book and stood. "She still is, you know."
Caelum's hand lingered on the edge of the counter. The silence stretched again—different this time. Not heavy. Not sharp.
"Thank you," Caelum said quietly. "For saving her."
But Elias only shook his head. "I didn't."
Caelum blinked.
"I got there after. She was already safe when I arrived. Wet, shaken, but not drowning. Someone else got there first." Elias's tone had lost all pretense. "He pulled her up. Covered her with a cloak. Stayed—until I came to get her."
Caelum's breath caught. "You know who?"
"I saw him. Holding her," Elias said quietly. "His hair—dark golden, soaked and tangled from the river. He looked like he hadn't breathed until she did." Caelum didn't interrupt. "There was something in his eyes," Elias continued. "Agony. Like seeing her like that was tearing him apart from the inside. He held her like she was the only thing that mattered." He exhaled slowly. "Then he looked up and saw me. And the first thing he asked was, 'Who are you?'" Elias's mouth curved faintly—not in humor, but in memory. "Accusing. Fierce. As if I was the one who didn't belong near her. Like I was intruding on something sacred." Caelum's jaw tightened, but he remained still. "He didn't stay long," Elias said. "Once I stepped closer, he backed away. Watched me wrap her in my cloak. And then he turned and left—without a name, without a word. But not before I saw it again." Elias glanced up, meeting Caelum's eyes. "That look. Like she was his entire world, and he'd nearly lost her."
Caelum's heart thudded once. Then twice. He knew.
Without another word, he turned toward the door. "I'll be gone for the night," he said over his shoulder. "Watch over her?" Elias nodded once. "Of course."
His eyes lifted toward the stairs, one last time, before the night swallowed him whole.
And then Caelum disappeared into the dark once more. Not as a shadow uncertain of his place— But as a man who had made up his mind.