The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond

Magnolia didn’t sleep.

Not that night. Not the next.

She sat at the edge of her cot, boots still on, cloak bunched beneath her like a forgotten oath. The fire in her hearth had died hours ago, but she didn’t move to rekindle it.

Camille’s voice still rang in her ears.

"Choose."

But there had never been a choice.

Not between them.

Not really.

She had chosen both and neither, a coward dressed as a protector.

Now Camille was bleeding, and Rhett’s silence sat like a stone in her gut.

She rose before dawn.