“I can usually hear you coming,” she said with a frown.

I took in her sloppy braid, her rumpled uniform, and the spot where her sword should hang, its absence so notable, the emptiness felt like a void. This wasn’t Kiva; it was an imposter hiding in her skin, like the creatures from Sella stories that were no longer told.

Catching on to my intentions, Kiva tried to slip away. I blocked the door, arms folded. I’d waited long enough.

“Talk,” I ordered.

“I have nothing to say.”

“And crows can’t fly. Come on, Kiva. Something’s eating away at you.” Literally, judging by the growing shadows beneath her eyes. I unfolded my arms, stepping toward her. She recoiled, and the space between us stretched. Every inch felt like a talon in my chest. I never should have waited.

“What happened that day?” I asked softly. “Please, Kiva. Let me help you.”

She held my gaze, unblinking, her silence trapping my breath in my throat. Then finally, she blurted out, “The man I fought is dead.”

“What?”

“He didn’t escape.” Her voice broke. “I killed him.”

I stared at her. Repeating the words in my head, I tried to force them into making sense. Though Kiva had been a member of the guard for several years before Ronoch, she’d never seriously hurt someone before. Never killed. Until now.

For me.

“You saved my life.” My voice came out hoarse. “Those men tried to kill me, and you saved me.”

Her hands curled into fists. “It’s not—I don’t feel—” She turned, toppling a nearby chair with a swift kick. “How in the Saints’ name am I supposed to protect you, to become captain, if I can’t handle killing one man?” She sent another chair skidding across the floor. “I felt sick for hours afterward! I still do. I feel like a mess.”

“You look like one too.” I tucked the escaped hairs from her braid behind her ear. If only I could fix the damage inside as easily. Kiva always knew what to say to me; all I wanted was to do the same for her.

I tried to smile. “There’s nothing wrong with that though.”

“Nothing wrong? I can’t implode every time I kill someone!”

“I didn’t realize you planned on doing it often.”

“I’m not! But if I need to…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

I set the chairs back on their feet and settled into one, patting the seat of the other. Kiva dropped into it, pressing her head into her hand, messy blond hair tumbling into her fingers.

When I was upset, I needed Kiva to shake me out of it, to break my pattern. On the much rarer occasion that she needed me, I had to take a different approach.