Sunset Valley What the future says,

---

—he stills.
the words she speak; they stifle in blackfell his breath, and produce a sardonic chuckle. she says it as if it is so easy. and yet it slices through the fragile threads he’s tried to knot together—duty, loyalty, honor. things he tells himself he still holds.
blackfell’s breath draws slow, taut. his gaze breaks from hers just once, flicking to the distant shadows. he does not move away, but he does not close the space between them either. it’s not rejection—it’s restraint.
i am married, morwenna. the words feel like stones in his mouth. dry. heavy. bitter. to your sister.
his eyes lift back to hers. and still, despite all, he does not step away. because she is not just anyone. because they are not just anything.
you think i do not feel it? words gritted behind bridgework that refuses to part more than mere inches. you think i don’t dream of it? of what we could’ve been—of what i might still give you if i were not already bound?
he takes a step away. hanging his head in frustration that bleeds across the whole of him.
what man does it make me if i leave her when she is so broken?