I didn’t bother to look up as my door opened, Caspian walking in without knocking. I had heard him as soon as he arrived, and Caspian knew me well enough to know that I was ignoring him on purpose. He slowly closed my door before simply standing quietly, waiting, as if offering me space to decide how this conversation would go. The fire in the hearth cracked faintly, shadows flickering across the dark walls of my room, but Caspian didn’t move from his place. I could feel his presence, the slow, deliberate weight of it, not heavy or invasive—just constant.

  “You’re quieter than usual,” I muttered, still not turning around. It was a lie but one that broke the silence nonetheless.

  “I didn’t come to talk.” His voice was low, composed as always, like the sound of steel sliding into its sheath. I scoffed, not bothering to shift from the armchair I was curled up in. “I came to see how you’re adjusting.”

  “There’s nothing to adjust to. Life here isn’t much different than it was with you and Isa, although it is quieter without Valaine constantly complaining,” I huffed, still keeping my eyes on the fire. I hadn’t asked anyone to light it, but it had been lit when I returned to my room after dinner. Even though it was spring now, the nights were apparently still cold, and someone likely thought to warm up my room for me.

  “I’m not talking about adjusting to the palace,” Caspian clarified and I tilted my head slightly, finally glancing at him from the corner of my eye. He hadn’t moved, but the flicker of the firelight caught on the sharp lines of his face and his gaze remained unreadable.

  “I’m fine,” I said, more harshly than I intended, turning my face back toward the flames. “You don’t need to check in like I’m some kid away from home for the first time.”

  “You are a kid away from home for the first time,” he replied evenly. I clenched my jaw, my hands curling tighter around the arms of the chair. “And you’re not fine.”

  “I’m used to being alone,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. Caspian didn’t answer, but I heard as he stepped forward finally, approaching me where I sat. I didn’t look up as he stood over me, but I could tell from his breathing he was preparing for me to lash out.

  “You hate being here and you miss her. You’re scared.”

  I flinched. The words struck harder than I expected, because they were true—and because hearing him say them aloud made them feel too real. I felt the heat build in my chest, shame and anger tangling so tightly I couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended.

  “I’m doing it for her,” I said through my teeth, turning away from Caspian’s gaze more. “I need people to stop seeing how important she is to me. I won’t be able to hide it once that dragon comes back and confirms what I am.”

  “Pretending is not doing, Cyran. I’ve told you that before,” Caspian’s voice was low as he spoke, and every word stroked the fire in my chest. “If you try to suppress how you feel, it will explode when you don’t want it to.”

  I didn’t think about it—I just moved. One moment, I was sitting in the chair and the next I was standing, my hands reaching for Caspain’s throat. He didn’t flinch, he barely moved as he grabbed my wrists, barely straining as he held me in place. I pushed for only a moment before I realized what I was doing, and I could see my horns and eyes reflected in Caspian’s gaze. Scales rippled across my arms and up my throat as I panted, struggling to get my emotions back under control.

  “I told you you need to mature without her, but I didn’t tell you to pretend you don’t love her,” Caspain continued, his voice as calm as ever. No strain, no anger, just… there. “You didn’t have to come here alone.”

  “I did,” I insisted, looking down at the floor as I struggled to relax my hands, to swallow the anger, fear and frustration that filled me. I couldn’t tell Caspian about my previous life, about Tritetia’s visions, about how all of this was just to make sure my mother didn’t die in two years. Caspian was too smart, too insightful and if I gave any hint of the truth, he would quickly put together the rest. “I had to come alone.”

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  Silence settled between us again, thick as the shadows clinging to the corners of the room. Caspian’s grip on my wrists didn’t tighten, but he didn’t let go either. He was patient, almost infuriatingly so. I could feel his eyes on me, not judging, not accusing, just watching. Waiting. The heat in my chest hadn’t gone, but it had dulled under the pressure of my breathing, the crackle of the fire, and the fact that Caspian still hadn’t so much as blinked.

  “You don’t scare me, Cyran, nor are you dangerous to me,” he said quietly, finally releasing my arms and stepping back. A fresh wave of anger surged through me at his words, but I forced myself to swallow it; I didn’t need to be reminded how easily he had cut me down in my first life. “But if you keep letting your emotions get ahead of your mind, you will be dangerous to yourself and to those you want to protect.”

  I didn’t answer. The words lodged themselves somewhere between my throat and my stomach, stuck in the gnawing pit of guilt and frustration that had lived there since the moment I told my mother she had to stay behind. I turned away again, dragging one hand through my hair and feeling the sharp edges of my horns scratch across my fingers. I hated how easily Caspian could pull the truth out of me, hated how he always knew when I was lying, even when I convinced myself I wasn’t.

  “Starting tomorrow, you’ll do weapons training,” Caspain’s words made me look up again, and he still had the same serious and calm expression. “Somewhere to put that energy before it turns on you or the people you care about. You’ve already proven you need it.”

  I wanted to argue, but I knew I couldn’t. My outburst had already proven I had a long way to go in controlling my emotions, and being a teenager again certainly didn’t help. Even in my first life, the majority of my changes happened after my thirteenth birthday, when my emotions often got the better of me and made my body change faster than I was prepared for. I simply nodded, sighing as my horns finally faded away.

  “I used to be the same way.”

  Caspian’s soft tone pulled my eyes back to him, more than the words themselves. His face hadn’t changed, still carved in that mask of steady restraint, but something flickered just beneath the surface—old memory, maybe, or the shadow of something long past.

  “I was angry all the time, although I had less of a reason to be,” he went on, folding his arms behind his back with that same controlled posture he always had. “I grew up always knowing what I was and why I had to hide it, but it didn’t make it any easier.”

  “Are you going to tell me what you’re mixed with?” I asked, but Caspian’s soft smile told me his answer.

  “You’ll find out in time,” was the same reply he always gave, and I shook my head, merely looking back to the fire as I climbed back into the chair. “I was lucky enough to have my parents help me navigate through everything but I can empathize how isolating it can feel to be different.”

  Caspian’s honest admission made me frown, suddenly feeling like a small child and not someone who had already lived to be an adult once. I knew how to swallow my emotions, to let them fester and build until anger and grief was all I had, but I had never learned how to manage them. I couldn’t deny that having Caspian's help allowed me to master my abilities faster, and paired with my knowledge of what I would eventually be able to do, it was an advantage that helped more than he knew.

  “Sorry,” I muttered at last, burying my face into my knees. “For lashing out.”

  “You’re learning. Better to be me than a human who can’t handle you.” Caspian shrugged and I huffed, hating even more that he was right. “Tomorrow, in the courtyard. I’ll be waiting.”

  “Okay,” as soon as I agreed, Caspian turned and left, the silence filling the room with a finality that was somehow both comforting and suffocating. The door clicked shut behind him with the same soft control he used for everything, leaving behind only the low hiss of the fire and the echo of everything he hadn't said. Every silence between his sentences felt intentional, heavy with meaning, and I’d spent enough time around him to start recognizing when the unsaid things mattered more than the spoken ones.

  I exhaled slowly, the tension I’d been carrying finally bleeding out of my shoulders as I slumped deeper into the chair. The flames cracked quietly in front of me, throwing slow, dancing shadows across the walls, and I let my eyes drift shut. There was no peace in the stillness, but there was clarity, the kind that only came after anger burned itself out. I missed my mother; it was that simple and that unbearable as I heard the lack of her presence.

  “Sleeping like that will break your back. Don’t make me pick you up and force you into that bed.”

  I smiled softly as I heard her fussing at me, complaining about me curling up in the chair. Slowly, I stood again, dragging myself over to my new bed, waiting for me to grace it with my presence. Even if she wasn’t here physically, I carried her with me everywhere, just as I had done after she died. It would take a while to get used to not hearing her in the palace, but she was safe. She was cared for.

  For now, that was enough.