Page 113 of Trapped With My Dark Elf
For a second, I expect resistance. A challenge. A correction. It doesn’t come.
Instead, he shifts forward slightly, adjusting his position as though preparing to stand, even knowing the cost.
“You’re leading this,” he says.
Not a question.
“No,” I reply. “I already am.”
My words are clear and deliberate, leaving no space for reinterpretation. This isn’t temporary. This isn’t shared. Not here. Not now.
I turn toward the cave entrance, the light stronger now, the world outside already moving toward whatever comes next, and I don’t hesitate.
I know where we’re going. I know when. And more importantly…I know what happens if we don’t.
32
VAEDROS
We leave the cave before the light fully settles.
Aeryn doesn’t hesitate. She moves with purpose, already aligned with the path she’s chosen, her pace controlled but decisive, as though the direction exists independently of terrain. I follow without comment, adjusting my stride to compensate for the pull along my side, the wound still present, still limiting, though no longer enough to stop movement entirely.
It will hold.
The forest beyond the cave stretches unevenly, dense in places, open in others, shifting between visibility and concealment without pattern. I track it automatically, mapping routes, identifying vantage points, noting where movement would be seen and where it would disappear.
Aeryn stays ahead. Close enough to remain within reach. Far enough to suggest she expects me to follow. I let that stand.
We move in silence for a time, the kind that doesn’t require filling, shaped more by alignment than distance.
Movement. Controlled. Behind us. I stop.
Aeryn takes two more steps before she notices, turning slightly, her gaze already narrowing as she reads the same change in the environment.
“You felt that,” she says.
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Small unit.”
“Tracking?”
“Me.”
Not her.
I shift my position slightly, angling away from the path we were following, redirecting us without explaining it. Aeryn watches the adjustment, then follows without question, her silence confirming she understands what I’m doing.
We don’t evade. We lead.
The terrain ahead narrows into a shallow cut between rising stone, the ground uneven but contained, limiting angles, restricting movement to a single approach.
I step into the space and wait. The unit arrives within minutes. Four of them.
Drazharel.
