CHAPTER 96: HUMAN

Ilaria ate quietly, hands wrapped around a tin cup that had long since stopped steaming.

Levan had nor said much since they left their tent. There was no visible tension in his face, just the quiet, deliberate calm he wore when thinking too much. He ate little, his movements neat and unhurried, his gaze occasionally distant like his mind was still somewhere in the fog of the Expanse.

Ilaria took a sip from the cup before finally asking, "Did something happen on patrol?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

She hesitated. "...But you’re quieter than usual."

He allowed the smallest breath of a smile, though it did not quite reach his eyes. "You’re one to talk."

She clamped her lips sheepishly. "I’m allowed to be quiet. I was nearly scared out of my skin last night."

He picked up his spoon, resuming to eat. "Then be quiet. I’ll keep an eye on you."

"..."

Her heartbeat stuttered, but she went back to her plate.

The soft clatter of dishes and the low murmur of voices from the kitchen filled the tent’s edges. Ilaria continued eating slowly, aware that Levan had not moved on to his own food after he ate only half of the bowl, merely resting his chin against one hand and watching her with that unreadable steadiness.

He waited until she took her last bite before asking. "Finish?"

She blinked, caught off guard, then nodded. "Yes."

Levan pushed his untouched plate aside. "Good. You’ll need your strength."

She tilted her head. "Why?"

"We’re returning to the palace. I’ve already asked Harken to prepare the men. We leave by dusk."

Her fork froze midair. "So soon?"

He nodded once. "There’s nothing more to gain here."

"But... the expedition?" she asked, brows knitting. "You said it could take weeks."

"That was before," he replied with the certainty that told her he had made up his mind long before speaking it aloud. "The terrain’s unstable and the creatures are changing their behaviour. I won’t risk unnecessary losses."

Ilaria looked at him, searching his face for something she could not name. "You saw something."

Levan did not deny it. "Yes, something I won’t ignore. You’ll be safer in the palace."

For a moment, neither spoke. Ilaria looked down at her empty plate, the unease that had haunted her dream returning in a faint, hollow ache. They were leaving the Expanse, but she could not shake the feeling that it was not done with them yet.

Levan’s chair creaked softly as he stood, reaching for his gloves on the table. He did not look at her right away, and that, more than his words, made Ilaria’s stomach twist. The light filtering through the tent was pale and cold, catching the edges of his profile in silver.

"Husband," she said quietly.

He paused mid-motion, the leather glove still in his hand.

She took a breath. "You’re keeping something from me."

He turned then, silently measuring every word before he let it fall. "I’m not," he said. But she saw it, the faint crease at his brow, the tension along his jaw. The signs she had learned to read long before he ever taught her to.

"You are," she insisted, softer this time but unyielding. "You always do this when something’s wrong. You shut me out."

Levan’s lips parted as if to protest, then he exhaled instead, the sound quiet but weary. He closed the distance between them, one steady step at a time, and rested a hand against her back.

"I’m not shutting you out, Aria," he clarified. "I’m trying not to burden you with things that would only weigh you down."

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table. "It just feels like you’re pulling away from me. Like the moment something is heavy, you step back."

"You’re mistaken."

She stared up at him, frustration tangling with fear, worry, and the ache of knowing he meant well even when it hurt. "Then I must be imagining the distance," she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady. "Because I feel it every time you look away."

His reply came fast. "That’s not true."

Before she could argue further, he brushed his thumb along her cheekbone like a small, grounding gesture. It was enough to steal the words from her mouth. "Eat more next time," he said. "You’ve barely touched your bread."

"Husband," she breathed, caught somewhere between wanting to scold him and melting into the tenderness he always seemed to disarm her with. "You can’t just—"

He arched a brow. "Deflect?"

"Exactly."

He smiled faintly, just a ghost one and withdrew his hand. "You were saying?"

She frowned at him, then sighed. "There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask. Since the expedition began."

"Go on."

"The beasts," she said, hesitating as she tried to find the right words. "They’re not... normal."

"I’m aware."

"No, listen," she said quickly, leaning forward now. "When I touched one, the night before the second patrol, you remember that?"

He nodded slowly, eyes narrowing with quiet recollection.

"I felt something," she continued, voice barely above a whisper. "Not just fear or rage. It was like— like a pulse. Like something human was buried underneath. And when it screamed, it didn’t sound like an animal at all. It sounded like—"

"Like a person," he finished for her.

Her head snapped up. "So you did know."

"I knew the signs," he admitted. "Not because we’ve seen it in our lifetime, but because the old records described it. Ritual behaviour. Symmetry. Deliberate markings. Beasts shouldn’t be capable of any of that, not unless they were something else first."

"The remains the scouts found confirmed it. Human bones, human fractures, human wounds re-shaped into something unrecognisable." He met her eyes, jaw tense. "So yes. I knew. I didn’t want to say it until I was certain."

Her chest constricted. "So they were—?"

"Changed," he said, the word heavy as stone. "Twisted, maybe. We don’t know how, or why."

Ilaria’s hand trembled. "And you weren’t going to tell me."

Levan drew in a slow breath, his shoulders squaring as if to brace himself against something heavier than her words. "I told you not to worry about these things," he said wearily. "This isn’t something you should be thinking about."

Her eyes widened. "How can I not think about it?"

"Because processing it won’t change anything on your end," he stated. "It’s operational information, which is irrelevant to your responsibilities and detrimental to your peace of mind."

"Then it matters that I know," she whispered, the tremor in her voice belying the firmness of her words. "You said it yourself, they were once human. Then shouldn’t we at least try to understand? Maybe there’s a way to—"

"To what?" he interrupted, the question cutting through her plea like a blade through mist.

Ilaria hesitated. Her hands fidgeted in her lap before she forced herself to look him in the eyes. "To reach them," she stated. "To speak to them. To help them, somehow."

For a long, suspended heartbeat, there was only silence. Levan’s expression did not change at first like he was trying to make sense of her words, but something in his gaze darkened, a storm she could almost feel rather than see.

"These... they’re beyond help," he said, almost coldly. He felt the familiar tug of frustration at how stubborn she was, how she refused to let him shield her from this mess. Every time she pressed to ’understand,’ a part of him bristled, knowing how much pain it could bring her.

He really does not want to drag her into this. But she just would not listen until she sees it with her own eyes.

"You can’t change what’s already lost," he added, letting the words settle like stone between them.

"You don’t know that."

He paused, feeling the weight of her gaze. How do he make her understand without breaking her? he thought, the frustration at the situation gnawing at him. He hated that his truths always felt like blows. Hated that she had to carry even a fraction of it.

So he lowered himself beside her, bringing himself to her eye level, trying to soften the edge of his presence. "I do," he said carefully. "I’ve seen it before. When a man turns into something that feeds on what he used to be, there’s no coming back. Beast or not."

His hand hovered near hers, not touching, just offering a silent tether. The tension in his chest eased only slightly as he searched her eyes for understanding, wishing she could see both the danger and the care behind his words.

But she shook her head, stubborn even through the tremor in her voice. "But what if—"

"Aria," he cut in again, his voice threaded with something raw. "If you try to reach something like that, it won’t recognise mercy. It will tear through it. And I won’t risk you for a thing that no longer remembers its own name."

Her lips parted, but the protest faltered on her tongue when he finally touched her hand, covering it with his.

"Your compassion is not wrong, keep it," he said. "But out here, it’s also what could destroy you."

"I just— I can’t stand thinking they used to be us."

"I know." His eyes softened. "And that’s why you shouldn’t have to see what they’ve become."

For a long while, neither of them spoke. The sounds of the waking camp drifted faintly through the canvas walls, but it all seemed far away. He felt the tension in her ease slightly, the stubborn edge softened, and a quiet relief washed over him.

Ilaria lowered her gaze, the fight in her dimming into something quieter. "...You’ll still let me stay by your side, won’t you?" she asked at last, voice barely a whisper.

Levan’s thumb stilled over her skin. There was no command in his eyes, just weariness and a devotion that ran too deep for words.

"I couldn’t stop you even if I tried," he sighed, but this time the words carried no warmth. The faint smile that touched his lips was gone before it could mean anything.

His tone was not raised, but the edge in it made her still.

She gasped, startled by the sudden shift. "I—"

He stepped back, gloved hand dragging over his face as he exhaled sharply. For a second, he seemed as though he might leave to walk off the frustration and to collect himself like he always did when things pressed too close.

Ilaria’s fingers twitched against her lap. The silence between them stretched, cold and uncertain. She watched him turn away, his back straight and controlled, making her heart twist painfully.

"...Husband?" she called softly.

He halted mid-motion, the glove he had been adjusting frozen in his hand.

For a moment, he only looked at her: at the way her fingers worried the hem of her sleeve, at the faint shadows beneath her eyes, at the lingering fear she was still trying to hide. Whatever irritation had flared in him melted almost instantly, replaced by something far heavier.

He cursed himself under his breath. Then, without another word, he crossed the space between them again.

"Come," he said quietly, softer now, as he reached for her hand. "We should prepare to leave. The sooner we’re on the road, the better."

She watched him, confusion flickering across her face. "You’re... we’re leaving? Already?"

He nodded, tightening his grip gently around her fingers as if afraid she would slip away if he did not hold on. "We’ve seen enough," he said. "Whatever’s in the Expanse, it’s no longer worth it."

Ilaria searched his expression for the anger she had thought she saw before, but it was not there. Only the steady calm he always wore when he had made a difficult decision. And underneath it a weariness that looked almost like sorrow.

He noticed her hesitation, and his hand lifted briefly to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. Before she could respond, his lips met her temple in a brief, soft kiss. "Don’t mistake silence for anger," he reassured, his breath warm. "I just... need to think."

Her eyes searched his face, wide and questioning when he pulled away, trying to read the thoughts he was not speaking aloud.

He gave her hand a light squeeze, grounding her again. "Come," he said, quieter now. "Let’s pack your stuff. I’ll have the horses ready."

And as he stepped aside to let her pass, Ilaria caught the faintest shift in his expression, an unspoken apology in the way his eyes softened when they met hers. Whatever the Expanse had shown him, whatever truth he carried now, it weighed on him enough that even his calm was beginning to crack.

And Ilaria... quietly in her heart, promised that she would help him in every way she could.