trager had been everything to cat. she had finally moved on from xaden, had finally opened up to someone else.

and the gods had spit in her face.

she had seen the arrow pierce his heart, had watched as he had fallen, spitting blood.

someone had gotten a cat, while her lover had gotten gifted death. it was a cruel, cruel joke. had she not been held back, she would have torn into every person on the damn island watching. they all deserved to die for their idea of a game. she cursed zihnal and everything he stood for.

and yet they remained on zehyllna while they packed to leave, while they prepared his body for flight like it was cargo.

you found her in her room, tears streaking down her face, slouched on the floor on her knees as though she were cursing instead of praying. a goblet lay shattered where it had hit the wall, and her clothes were strewn about like she had attempted to pack but had failed.

“go away,” she as good as spat upon hearing the door creak open. she didn’t even turn to see who it was. for all she cared one of the islanders could find her. let them see what they had done.

she ignored you as you crouched by her side. you, a rider, who would never understand how it felt to lose someone in your drift, let alone a lover.