Elira got home after sunset—only because Elder Samara had told her to go and rest, even though she still had a hundred things she wanted to say.

Her chest felt lighter after an evening with the woman she’d come to think of as a mother. It was like the night wind had carried off the last of her worries.

A few steps from her door, she caught a familiar silhouette on the porch. She squinted.

“Raka?” she called. He stood at once. “Have you been back long?”

“Your father said you were still at Elder Samara’s.”

“Oh.” Elira frowned. “I was learning herbs with her.”

Raka nodded, but his eyes traveled over her like he was checking for dust.

“Have you eaten? I think there’s some meat left in the house.”

“No need,” Raka said, catching her hand when she moved to go inside. “I’m heading back. Go in and rest.”

Elira glanced at her wrist. His fingers were cold against her skin. How long had he been waiting out here?

She was about to protest—then her gaze snagged on a long scratch across his forearm. It was fresh, the blood only just drying.

She grabbed his hand before he could hide it and glared up at him. “What were you doing in the forest to get hurt like this?” Her voice trembled—fear and anger tangling together.

“It’s nothing. I bumped a branch.”

Elira tightened her grip, fury sparking in her brown eyes. She hated it when he played tough.

“I—”

“Wait here,” she cut in, flinging his hand away and slipping inside.

Raka froze, staring at the door until she returned with a wooden bowl and a clean cloth.

She pushed him down to sit. Without asking, she lifted his arm, crouched, and cleaned the crusted blood with the damp cloth. When it was dry, she sprinkled crushed herbal leaves over the cut.

Raka’s throat went dry. He swallowed. Honestly, he’d have taken the loud, scolding Elira over this quiet one—this Elira who was holding something back.

“What would I be without you?” Elira said, echoing his words from last night, eyes still on the wound. “Isn’t it the other way around? You nag about my carelessness, but you can’t even take care of yourself.”

Raka’s fist curled. Her words hurt worse than the sting of the herbs.

“Just because you’re strong—a brilliant archer—doesn’t mean you can treat your body like it’s disposable. What if you bled out? What if it got infected and spread?”

She lifted her head and pinned him with a look. “Do you still see me as that little girl crying at the forest’s edge, waiting for you to come back? Is that why you never tell me anything?”

“Elira—”

“If I asked what you did in Kamura, you wouldn’t tell me, would you?” She wiped the corner of her eye. “Everything’s blurry in my head. Everyone keeps confusing me. Even the man I rely on most just tells me to trust him and do nothing while he runs off on dangerous missions I’m not allowed to know about.”

She breathed in, steadied herself. “At least come back safe—not covered in cuts like this.”

A minute of silence stretched like years. Raka knew she was still thinking about yesterday in the forest. Tonight, she looked more fragile than he had ever seen her.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’ll be more careful.”

Elira covered her face, fighting tears. She had promised herself she wouldn’t cry—but seeing him hurt, it felt like the wound was hers.

“Elira,” Raka murmured, suddenly panicked at the way her small shoulders shook. “I’m really fine.”

“Liar!” She batted away the hand reaching for her face. “That obviously hurts! Why can’t you be honest with me for once? I’m not going to laugh at you. If you’re not okay, say it! I’m almost an adult—I can take care of you, too!”

The corner of his mouth lifted. That was the Elira he knew—too sincere to hide what she felt, too caring to stand still. Even under the dark sky, her flushed cheeks made her look unfairly adorable.

Elira took his arm and pressed the leaves down—hard. “Hurts, doesn’t it? I hope it hurts!”

He winced behind a small laugh. Her strength was no joke. At this rate, she would be the death of him.

“Ack!”

The yelp startled her. She stroked his arm, eyes wide and worried, then blew gently over the cut.

Raka couldn’t hold back a smile. He even laughed.

Before she could launch back into scolding, he pulled her in. He wrapped her up and patted her back, gentle.

“Hey—”

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I made this almost-grown girl worry too much. I wasn’t lying—the wound’s nothing. I rushed back because I wanted to see you before the day changed, and I didn’t notice a sharp branch caught my arm.”

Elira said nothing. She buried her hot face against his chest.

“I kept wondering why you looked so sad,” he went on, playful-soft. “Turns out you were that worried. Now a wound that didn’t hurt feels like death. So… can you be quiet for a bit? At least until it stops hurting?”

She stayed where she was, breathing deep, coaxing her heart to behave. The night hummed with small creatures. Thankfully, no villagers passed by to witness the embarrassing scene.

Elira’s arms circled his back. When else was Raka this sweet?

Slowly, he let her go. He looked at her with a small smile and brushed his thumb under her eye, wiping the dried salt there.

“Don’t waste your tears—especially not on me,” he said softly. “Go in and rest. I don’t want to be the reason the village’s best dancer loses her pretty face tomorrow night.”

Elira pouted. Even in a sweet moment, he still slipped in something annoying. Strangely, she wasn’t mad.

“The village’s best archer will still bow at the dancer’s feet,” she shot back. “Go rest. I’ll check your wound in the morning.”

A beat passed. Raka nodded. Reluctantly, his fingers left her face.

Elira gave him a small, bright smile, waved, and stepped inside.