Arin couldn't feel his hands.
They were there. He could see them. Fingers slightly curled, trembling just enough to betray the storm inside him. But sensation had vanished, like his body had decided this moment was too sharp to touch.
The forest pressed in, silent and listening.
Kael's words hung in the air between them, fragile and irreversible.
Like it would recognize you back.
Arin stared at him, searching for the punchline. The correction. The moment where Kael would shake his head and say he'd misspoken.
It didn't come.
Instead, Kael just stood there, guilt heavy in his posture, like armor he couldn't remove.
And that hurt more than anything.
---
"You knew," Arin said.
The words didn't come out loud.
They came out hollow.
Kael flinched like he'd been struck.
"I knew pieces," he said quietly. "Not everything."
"That's not what I asked."
The forest felt smaller now. Like the trees were closing ranks, hemming them into a place where lies couldn't breathe.
