"Why do you suddenly care?!" Aurelia snapped, slapping Rhys's hand away.
"You're the one who stabbed my mom with your sword!"
Rhys exhaled sharply, running a hand through his messy, shoulder-length brown hair in frustration.
"Stop being so damn stubborn if you want to stay alive!" he shouted back. "Get back to the damn hut!"
His voice hit her like a slap, leaving her frozen in place. The fragile trust that had started to bloom inside her cracked in an instant.
Just when she thought he might be different, he reminded her of every other witch hunter she'd crossed—cold, forceful, cruel.
But then Rhys limped forward, his movements stiff and uneven from the wound she'd inflicted with her magic. Still, he pressed on without looking back.
"I'll be the one to go into the village," he said. "I'll get the supplies. The information."
Aurelia stared at his back, a storm of conflicted emotions swelling inside her—distrust, guilt, fear… and something else she couldn't name.
