She lifted a hand to her face.
Fingers ca away damp.
Her brows knit. There was no image in her head, no fresh mory to attach the feeling to. Last night, for the first ti in too long, she hadn’t seen anything in her sleep. No god, no elders, no light trying to split her open.
But her chest hurt like it had.
Like sothing had cracked anyway.
She sat up too fast. Pain flared through bruises and the bump on her skull, but it was nothing compared to the pressure in her ribs. Tears slipped free before she could swallow them, spilling down her cheeks in a quiet, ugly rush.
She didn’t even know why.
Her throat closed around air. A small sound tore out, halfway between a gasp and a sob, and then everything she’d been holding since the inn, since the storm, since the first ti she’d opened her eyes in this world, broke loose.
Kaya burst into tears.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a steady, shaking stream she couldn’t stop. Her hands pressed against her sternum like she could hold sothing in place there. Each breath dragged in ragged, then left on a small, broken exhale. Her shoulders curled in, body trying to make itself smaller around a pain that didn’t have a clear shape.
There was no clear reason she could grab.
No one had stabbed her fresh. No one had shouted at her. She wasn’t rembering so bright, sharp scene. It was worse than that—like the echo of a mory, all feeling and no picture. A sense of having lost sothing so precious it had once defined her, and only now, for a brief mont, realizing it was gone.
And then not rembering what it was.
Her fingers clawed at the blanket.
*What did I forget?*
The question had no answer. It just hurt. Hurt like an old scar being ripped open from the inside. Hurt like soone else had been here, close enough to touch, and then stepped out of her reach the mont she woke.
Kaya pressed the heel of her hand to her chest, like she could push the ache back in.
Tears wouldn’t stop. They slid down her face in a quiet, steady line, soaking into the pillow, dripping off her chin. No images. No clear mory. Just that tearing feeling under her ribs and a hollow, furious *why* she couldn’t answer.
She scrubbed her face with both hands, hard, trying to force it back down.
Footsteps padded softly outside.
She froze, swallowing the next breath like it might give her away. A small shadow stretched across the doorway as soone paused there, then moved inside.
"Ka—"
Cutie stopped halfway through her na.
She turned her head away on instinct, knuckles dragging quickly under her eyes. It did nothing; the redness was there, the wetness too. She shifted on the bed, shoulders angling toward the wall, making herself smaller.
"I’m fine," she said, voice rough.
He stepped closer anyway. Not too close. Just enough that the faint light from the main cave showed his face—soft, concerned, mouth slightly parted like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to speak.
"You’re... awake," he said quietly. "I brought water."
He held up a small cup, just visible in his hand. Her gaze flicked to it, then away.
"Put it there," she muttered, chin jerking toward the low slab that served as a table.
He set the cup down without argunt. The faint clink of stone and clay was too loud in the small room.
She could feel his eyes on her back.
"Rain got in," Kaya said after a mont, wiping at her face again as if she could erase what he’d already seen. "Must’ve... irritated sothing."
It was a bad excuse. Her tone didn’t match the words, and the way her shoulders hunched, her head dipped, gave her away; people who want to hide hurt often turn their bodies away and avoid eye contact like this.
Cutie didn’t call her out.
"Mn," he murmured, as if he believed her. "The storm was... a lot."
He didn’t leave.
Instead, he lowered himself to sit on the floor beside the bed, back to the wall, knees drawn up loosely. Not close enough to touch. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of him at the edge of the blanket.
The silence stretched.
Kaya focused on breathing. In. Out. The pressure in her chest eased by degrees, each shaky inhale smoothing a little more. Eventually, when she trusted her voice not to crack, she reached for the cup. Her fingers brushed the rim, then steadied. She took a sip. Cold water burned down her throat in a good way.
Cutie watched her from the corner of his eye, pretending to study the rough carvings on the opposite wall.
"Veer’s... still sleeping," he offered softly. "The sparrow is shouting at his cousin. The usual."
Her mouth twitched, just barely.
"The usual," she echoed.
He smiled, small and quiet.
"You don’t have to get up yet," he said. "Veer said... no one will bother you this morning. I’ll tell them if they try."
Her eyes slid toward him for the first ti. Red‑rimd, tired, still wet at the corners—but steadier.
"Who said you can decide that?" she asked, voice a little less raw.
He shrugged, the motion small. "Soone should," he answered. "You look... very tired."
Understatent. But she let it pass.
For a few minutes more, they sat like that—her on the bed, back against the wall, him on the floor at her side, shoulder close to the fra, both facing forward. No big questions. No ntion of tears. Just quiet breathing slowly falling into the sa rhythm.
Kaya’s chest still hurt.
But it hurt less with the sound of his soft presence there, anchoring her to the cave and the here and now, while whatever naless thing her heart had lost stayed pressed against the edges of her mind, out of reach.
"Ahem"
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