The drip of rain outside the cave had gone silent. Only the hush remained when Raka finished his tale.

Elira’s jaw tightened; heat rose behind her eyes. No words came. Wasn’t she the village head’s daughter? How could she not know the history of the place she was meant to lead?

“Elira,” Raka asked softly. “Are you all right?”

“I—” her voice shook; her chest felt tight. “I didn’t know any of this. Why didn’t Father and the elders ever tell me?”

Raka touched her hand, gentle. “That story is forbidden in Ashira. In Kamura, it’s told to you before you can even crawl.”

“What?” Elira’s eyes widened. “Then how do you know it?”

For a heartbeat, Raka only stared at her—as if his gaze could be an answer. But Elira was done with half-truths. She’d given him leniency too many times.

She pulled her hand back and met his eyes, sharp. “What else are you hiding from me?”

Slowly, Raka let his hand fall. He caught the edge of his collar and tugged it down, revealing the upper right of his chest.

Elira flinched when her gaze landed on the symbol inked into his skin.

“Arumana?”

Raka nodded once.

Her anger, barely held, broke loose. She stood so fast Raka—still crouched—nearly lost his balance.

“You’re a spy? You betrayed Ashira?” The words tumbled out; her mind was chaos.

“Listen, Elira. I don’t belong to one side.” Raka rose and tried to calm her. “It’s true I’m from Kamura. But since Baran took me in, I’ve been a spy for Ashira, too.”

“What?” She shoved his hand away. “Don’t twist it. Who are you, really?”

The question cut clean through him. For the first time, Raka saw disappointment—hatred—aimed at him from her eyes.

“I trusted you most,” Elira said, shaking. “What am I supposed to trust now, if even my one hope lies to me? Is it because I’m stupid? Weak? Useless? All this time at my side—was that just part of your plan?”

Raka’s fists closed. Her words hurt less than the shine of tears in her lashes. Making Elira cry was the one thing he could not bear.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he said, voice unsteady. “Ashira used me. Kamura used me. I was just trying to survive.”

Something in his eyes rang true. Elira felt it. A small part of her wanted to believe him—but her mind rebelled, warning her to stop giving this man ground.

“Elira,” Raka said, her name dropping like a plea—the way he always said it when he meant to soothe her. “You’re like me. We’re both caught in the villages’ games. Kamura, Ashira—I don’t want to do this anymore either. But—”

His words stalled. He looked at her as if hanging the last threads of his life on her gaze.

“I still have to. I don’t want you to be alone when you find out everything.”

Tears slipped warm down Elira’s cheeks. His answer didn’t cool her anger; it burned deeper.

“Once we leave this cave,” Raka went on, stepping closer, “you’ll face something bigger. The village you want to protect, the people you love—they’re going to pull you under.”

“But,” he stopped with only a step between them, “you have to stay standing. Call me a traitor, a liar—whatever makes you breathe. But let me stay beside you.”

Elira lifted her head—eyes swollen, stubborn. “There are more lies outside this cave? I have to break even more than this?”

Raka swallowed. He wanted to fold her into his arms, but he knew she still doubted him.

“I don’t know, Raka,” she cried, her voice finally breaking. “How am I supposed to hold together, when even you—the one who felt like family—feel like a stranger?”

Raka’s jaw locked; the softness left his features.

“Elder Samara was right,” Elira said. “I leaned on you too much. I thought I knew everything about you, because to me you were fam—”

“Enough.” The cut of his voice made her flinch.

She didn’t understand. Raka looked suddenly furious—his calm gone, his stare sharpened.

“Family?” He gave a small, bitter smile. “I didn’t do all this to be your family.”

Elira’s brows creased. Why was he angry at that word?

“Listen,” he said, stepping in and closing the space between them. “I’ve played nice long enough. I’m not your family. I’m not your brother. Don’t look at me that way.”

She backed away on trembling legs, but he kept coming. She stopped only when her spine met stone. His face was inches away. She could feel his breath.

“Raka—”

“You don’t know how many times I wanted to run from both cursed villages,” he said, eyes never leaving her. “But the thought of you crying—breaking because of them—drives me mad.”

His hand lifted, reaching for her face. Instead, he punched the wall beside her, caging her with his body.

“Don’t say that word to me again. I protect you because I choose to—not because we’re family, not because I owe Baran. Don’t you see? I let both villages use me because it’s better than not seeing you at all.”

A fine dust drifted from the cave roof. Elira bit her lower lip. She had no answer. Her heart thrashed so hard she could barely think. What was this? Why was he acting like this now?

“I hold myself back every day,” he said through his teeth. “I shove it all down so I don’t scare you. But you never see me for what I am.”

“Raka… what are you even talking about?” Elira stammered.

He didn’t answer. He just looked at her—eyes full, everything he’d swallowed pouring through. Was it her imagination, or was his face closer than before?

She had no strength to run. Her knees shook; her whole body went still. Her lips formed a soundless shape; no voice came out.

Worse, her heartbeat spun so wild she feared it might fail her.

What was this feeling? Had she gone mad? She should be furious—should strike him. Instead she stood there, letting him close the distance, as if she’d already agreed.

When she thought his mouth would touch hers, he stopped. He held her gaze a second longer, then stepped back—like a man waking from the edge of a mistake.

“Does your ankle still hurt?” His voice came rough. “We have to go before dark. You don’t want Baran and the others worrying.”

Raka was impossible. Elira hadn’t even begun to sort through what just happened, and he was acting as if nothing had.

“You still have questions,” he said, not looking at her as he tidied the fire’s leftover wood. “But we need to make the festival. Remember our promise to see the Hinra River after? I’ll tell you everything there—everything you want to know, whatever I have, I’ll give.”

He held his hand out. Elira understood; the climb out would be rough.

“If this is the last thing I’m allowed to ask,” he said, “please trust me. Protecting you, staying beside you—none of that is a lie. Whatever happens after this—even if everything else is a lie—believe this: what I feel for you is the only thing I know to be real.”

Elira let him take her hand. He drew her up, then crouched so she could climb onto his back.

Trully, she was helpless against him. So much for anger—she felt more like a fool.

In silence, Raka started up the steep path, carrying her toward the village Elira had always believed was home.