The game had gone on for hours, and Maia's head was spinning. Laughter filled the air, but she barely heard it now. Her mind was elsewhere—lost somewhere between guilt and longing, between a painful past and an uncertain future. She tried to ignore the growing weight in her chest, the feeling of being out of place in a world that wasn't hers.

It wasn't until Kore's gaze locked with hers that she snapped back to reality. The playful energy in the room seemed to freeze in her eyes, the joy of the game momentarily cut short by the tension between them.

"...or dare?" the Krayevee's voice ringed in he ears, overshadowed by the noise.

Maia looked at the sharp object in front of her then at the woman's arm which was locked onto Rex's. She cleared her throat feeling Kore's piercing stare stabbing a hole in her back.

"Truth or dare?"

"Dare," Maia answered sharply, the words leaving her mouth as if she was swearing at the woman.

"I dare you to..." begun the woman, pointing at the small flowers that were budding next to Maia's feet, "I dare you to make me one of those."

"I-" Maia's voice cracked and she placed her hand around her scared neck. "I am not sure what you mean."

"You are like a nature goddess, are you not?"

Maia pressed her feet against the soil, and the grass whispered back to her.

"They say it listens to you, the nature..." the woman added.

Annia and Crassus exchanged some uneasy glances, and Rex, whose arm had been tightly held hostage in one place, pulled away.

"Maia-" the Helldornian who spoke to her earlier started cheering, and soon was joined by the cheerful crowd. "Maia! Maia! Maia!"

Maia felt her pulse thumping in her temples, and she could feel the bugs in the ground crawling viciously beneath the earths embrace.

"Goddess! Goddess!" shouted some kids.

But Maia didn't feel like a goddess. She wasn't even the hero they had expected in the first place.

With a trembling gesture, she grabbed a handful of soil, just enough to feel the cold sensation pressed against her palm. And for a moment, as she tightened her fingers against it, she found herself looking back at Rex.

And as she stood before him, she was just a girl, torn between worlds, caught in the space between guilt and the desperate need to belong. And the more she watched Rex, the more she realized something terrifying: she wanted him to want her. She needed him. He was her anchor in the storm. When everything had gone wrong, when the voices were too much for her to handle, he was the one who had helped her pull herself together. He had nursed her through the darkest moments, when she had wanted nothing more than to escape the pain, even if that meant ending her own life. And despite everything, despite her reservations, Maia couldn't escape him. Rex was always there. And, perhaps, that's all she wanted.

"Baby's breath," Annia whispered at the sight of the dainty plant creeping between Maia's fingers, and soft raindrops started to fall onto them. "A nice choice, I'd say." She declared, standing up. "Let's give it up for Maia."

The Krayevee picked the fragile plant with a satisfied expression, much to Maia's relief, and as everyone cheered the knife was spun again, and the game continued.

Then the knife landed on Crassus, and Maia felt an awkward tension on the surface, not quite sure of what the man would choose, or what even she could ask of him, considering she barely knew him.

"Truth, or dare?" she asked, fidgeting with the string around her waist.

"Truth," he answered shortly, seemingly amused by her overall stiffness.

Crassus was the epitome of composure, as far as Maia was concerned. The eldest son of Nix seemed to possess that je ne sais quoi that drew people in, yet he was never phased by the attention.

"Truth..." mumbled Maia, her mind briefly drifting away to the last time she played the game in high school. It seemed unreal. Sometimes she wondered if her life before she was summoned had ever existed, or if she made it all up inside her head.

Annia whispered something into his ear which made him spill his drink as he laughed.

"What are those brandings on your arms?" Maia finally made up her mind as she curiously looked at the marks on the man's robust arms. The carvings in his skin, which now occurred to her were similarly present among other Lykans, formed an intricate design going upward towards the left side of his neck.

A few started to laugh at her question, but Crassus with a smirk on his lips and a raised eyebrow looked at Rex, then answered.

"These are coming of marking age symbols. They are costumery to us when one reaches the age to..." Crassus paused sneaking another glance at his younger brother who now had walked away from the game, obviously bothered that the given subject had, yet again, been brought up. As if Maia begging him to mark her wasn't enough of a thought to wrestle with. "When one reaches the age to, let's say, be betrothed to someone."

Marking. The notion continued to puzzle her more than she wished to admit.

If the initial questions were simple, easy enough to answer: favourite foods, greatest fears, childhood dreams. The following questions grew bolder, as they often did in a game like this. Maia wasn't sure she liked the way they looked at her—eyes gleaming with curiosity. She caught herself scanning the place for Rex again, and found him staring back at her. Her chest tightened, but she quickly looked away, focusing on the spinning knife.

The night sky blessed them with its light as Rex leaned against the furthest tree he could find, but just close enough to have a clear picture of what was going on. There he was, arms crossed, the flickering firelight casting shadows across his face. His gaze, unrelenting, was fixed on Maia as she laughed at something one of the helldornian men had said. The man—"Zumrick?" Rex mumbled, "more like DUMBrick"—was tall, broad-shouldered, and annoyingly charming. Rex's jaw tightened as Maia tilted her head back, her laughter light and carefree, a sound Rex realized he hadn't heard from her in... well, perhaps, since he told her he didn't want her in that freaking tent.

She was smiling, completely at ease, her eyes bright in a way he hadn't seen. It should have been a good thing, Rex thought bitterly, that she was finally opening up, that she was enjoying her time among the others. And yet, the sight of Dumbrick leaning closer, his hand brushing hers as he gestured animatedly, ignited a flame in Rex's chest that he couldn't extinguish.

He told himself it was nothing. She was just talking, laughing. It didn't mean anything. And yet, every casual touch, every shared smile between them felt like a provocation—a silent challenge aimed directly at him. His hands balled into fists at his sides, the sharp bite of his nails against his palms grounding him, keeping him from storming over there and tearing Dumbrick away from her.

"She can talk to whoever she wants," he muttered under his breath, though the words tasted bitter. His heart growled low in his chest, the instinct to protect, to claim, to mark roaring louder with each passing second.

It wasn't right—this possessiveness, this jealousy. She wasn't his. She could never be his. Rex forced himself to look away, his gaze landing instead on the nearest drink. He grabbed it, downing the contents in one gulp, the burn of wolfsbane doing little to soothe the fire in his veins.

But his eyes betrayed him, drawn back to her like a moth to flame. Dumbrick said something that made Maia laugh again, and Rex caught the way she leaned forward, her hand lightly brushing Dumbrick's arm. It was innocent, meaningless, but to Rex, it felt like the knife that was spinning in the air had instead stabbed straight at him twisting in his chest.

He clenched his jaw so tightly it ached. "What in the name of the Moon is he doing?" he muttered, the words too quiet for anyone to hear.

Crassus appeared at his side, his calm demeanor a sharp contrast to Rex's simmering frustration. "You look like you're about to murder someone," he said, his tone light, though his eyes betrayed a knowing gleam.

Rex didn't answer, his gaze fixed on the pair across the fire. "She's just... settling in," he said, the words forced.

His brother raised an eyebrow, leaning against the tree beside him. "Settling in, huh? Looks like she's doing a great job of that. Maybe you should go over there and—"

"No," Rex snapped, cutting him off. He took a breath, running a hand through his hair. "No. She's fine. Let her... enjoy herself."

Crassus studied him for a moment before shrugging. "If you say so. But don't sulk too long, little brother. It doesn't suit you."

He walked away, leaving Rex alone with his thoughts. His heart growled again, a restless beating that made his chest tighten. He fought the urge to move, to interrupt, to remind everyone—Maia included—that she wasn't just anyone. That she wasn't Dumbricks's to charm, wasn't anyone's to claim.

But then his gaze landed on her again, and she turned her head, her eyes meeting his across the fire. For a brief moment, the rest of the world fell away. The laughter, the music, the murmurs of conversation—it all faded into the background.

Her smile faltered, the lightness in her expression replaced by something softer, something unspoken. Rex forced himself to look away, the connection severed as quickly as it had formed.

She wasn't his. And if he didn't remind himself of that soon, he wasn't sure he'd be able to hold himself back.

But Maia's turn came again quickly.

"Truth or dare?" the woman who asked for the flower proceeded, her voice light, but there was a hint of mischief in her eyes.

Maia hesitated, her pulse quickening. Maybe it was the wolfsbane wine, but she felt light headed, and it felt thrilling to have some fun. She only wished that she wouldn't be asked to grow some other plant or make it rain randomly, she knew not how, nor if she could control what was coming if that were the case. But the Krayevee had other things in mind.

"Truth," Maia answered cautiously, and her voice wavered slightly.

The Krayevee's smile was sly as she leaned forward. "Then tell us-"

The sharp weapon was suddenly picked up for the first time directly that night. Kore tightened his fingers around the knife as he stood up, his eyes narrow with something Maia couldn't quite place—resentment, anger, or maybe something darker. The room fell silent, waiting. The energy shifted, and for the first time that evening, the playfulness in the air truly vanished.

Kore's eyes flicked toward her; his face contorted. Maia felt the weight of every stare in the room. He was going to ask something, and she suddenly wished she wasn't there.

Finally, he spoke, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Truth?" he asked, his voice cool but laced with something that made Maia's stomach churn.

Maia's throat went dry, the weight of his gaze locking her in place. "Truth," she managed to say, her voice small.

Kore's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile, but wasn't quite a sneer, either. His next words echoed in the suddenly still circle.

"How does it feel to murder so many people and have everyone act like you're still some lifesaving hero?"