CHAPTER 241: DISTANCE

Of course, she was angry.

I’d also be a bit pissed if I were in her shoes.

"No," I said, keeping my voice steady. "There was no fighting."

Flogga nodded once and continued stirring, but the way she dipped the ladle into the pot made it very obvious she didn’t believe a single word of that. It wasn’t confrontational—just that quiet, almost motherly acknowledgment that she knew there was more to the story.

"Hm. Just asking," I said, ensuring my tone was neutral. "Did she, by any chance, mention why she was angry?"

"No, she didn’t," Flogga replied, then added under my breath, "If she did, then the perpetrator must’ve been someone capable of shaking the heavens."

"Zarah’s not one to talk much about what’s bothering her," Flogga said, her tone even as always. "But I can always tell. It’s in her eyes."

I paused, the edge of curiosity still tugging at me.

"Oh? And how did her eyes look when she got back?"

Flogga didn’t answer right away.

She just gave me one of those flat, knowing looks—the kind that didn’t accuse but made it very clear she was reading more than I was saying.

I stood awkwardly under the prodding gaze, wondering why I was standing here asking her questions instead of just going to Zarah myself.

Eventually, Flogga answered.

"They were narrow," she said, her voice low as she ladled another scoop of stew. "Narrower than usual. And that says a lot."

Narrower...? I muttered under my breath.

Flogga didn’t need to explain further. "You’ll understand when you see her."

With that, she scooped a generous helping of meaty soup into a bowl and extended it toward me.

I reached for it, but paused halfway.

Then slowly pulled my hand back, waving it off.

"Not yet," I said. "I’ll have it with Zarah."

"Oh... that’s good then," Flogga said with a rare grin, the kind that barely curled her lips but still managed to carry weight.

I gave her a short nod and turned away, the noise of the camp growing distant behind me as my thoughts pulled forward.

I wasn’t sure what I was going to say when I saw her. Part of me wanted to just show up, sit beside her, and let silence do the talking. But another part knew that wouldn’t cut it.

I couldn’t just wing it either.

I needed to think, to choose my words carefully.

One slip could ruin everything we’d built so far.

With that in mind, I activated [Warp], focusing on the seal I’d marked on her.

The world twisted, blinked.

And I reappeared high above the ground, standing on a thick branch that curved just outside the encampment’s boundary.

Directly across from me, seated on another branch with her back facing the camp, was Zarah.

She looked over her shoulder, and her eyes locked onto mine, sharp enough to make me pause.

Flogga hadn’t been exaggerating.

Her gaze was narrower.

As soon as she registered it was me, she gave a small, formal bow, barely a tilt of the head.

"Chief."

And just like that, she looked away again.

No smile. No warmth. Just that stiff, clipped tone and averted gaze that hit harder than any shout would have. Like she was saying, I’m too mad to even look at you—without needing to say it at all.

Oh, Zarah...

I felt a dull ache settle in my chest, somewhere between guilt and regret.

I wasn’t sure which stung more—her silence, or the fact that I probably deserved it.

I lowered myself onto the thick branch opposite hers, resting my back against the tree trunk. The bark was rough beneath my shoulders.

I stared out into the canopy for a moment, letting the wind fill the space between us.

Then I glanced at her again.

Still not looking my way.

I cleared my throat quietly, voice calm.

"Is everything going well?"

"Yes, Chief," she answered instantly, her tone smooth, rehearsed. "Everything’s going well. There’s no need to worry yourself. I have things handled."

That polished formality.

"I’m confident you do," I said softly, watching her profile, the way her jaw stayed clenched just enough to show she wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted me to believe.

Then there was silence again.

The wind rustled the leaves overhead, filling the space between us with a kind of quiet tension that made the branch beneath me feel heavier than it was.

I glanced her way once more, then finally asked, "Are you angry?"

"No. I am not," she replied, her tone flat—too flat. Not even trying to hide it.

Her voice didn’t crack. It didn’t rise. It was void of emotion in a way that was more revealing than if she’d screamed.

Yeah. She was definitely angry.

"You do understand why I reacted the way I did, right?" I asked, keeping my tone measured.

"I do," she said, still not facing me. "We’re not strong enough to take down the one who escaped, so you sent us back to safety while you took on the risk yourself. It is understandable."

Her words were sharp, efficient, and cold—like she’d rehearsed them a hundred times just to make sure they came out without showing what she really felt.

"I need you to understand something else," I said quietly. "I didn’t send you away because I think you’re weak. I didn’t do what I did because I see you as useless."

She turned slightly, just enough for me to see the flicker in her eyes.

She opened her mouth to respond—but nothing came out. Her lips parted, then closed again. Her throat shifted as she swallowed hard.

I warped.

One second, I was across from her, the next, I stood directly in front of her on the same branch, just a breath away.

Zarah’s eyes widened, startled by my sudden appearance, but just as quickly, she looked away, lowering her gaze to the space between us.

I didn’t let the silence drag.

I reached out and gently took her hand, wrapping my fingers around hers. Her skin was warm, calloused, steady despite the emotion simmering beneath it.

I held her gaze, refusing to let her look away this time.

"Zarah," I said firmly, "I don’t think you’re useless. Not even for a moment. I’ve never thought of you that way."

Her eyes flicked back to mine, anger and hurt rising to the surface as she whispered, "Then why?"

Her voice cracked.

"Why won’t you...