"Don't," she whispered.
The word fractured on its way out, soft and brittle, like glass pressed too thin. Her voice betrayed her before she could stop it.
"Please. Not right now."
Alaric stopped.
He stood a few steps behind her, frozen in place, the night folding around them. He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing as though he were forcing something painful back down his throat.
She was crying because of the play.
But she was breaking because of him.
"Salviana," he said quietly, carefully, as though her name alone might shatter her. "I am here."
Her shoulders trembled—just once. A small, involuntary movement. But it was enough to tear through him.
Then she spoke again, so softly the words almost dissolved into the air.
"Why does everything hurt so much…?"
Alaric closed his eyes.
