Everyone trusts Neteyam with you.

That’s the problem.

When the path back to the village grows dark, someone always says, “Neteyam will walk you.” When training runs long, it’s “Stay with Neteyam.” When laughter turns loud and the fire burns low, no one worries if you’re seated beside him.

Because he’s your best friend’s older brother. Because he’s responsible. Because he’s Neteyam.

You’ve heard it your whole life.

Right now, you’re walking side by side through the forest, the sounds of the village fading behind you. The air is cool, quiet. Safe.

Neteyam breaks the silence first. “You were quiet tonight.”

You shrug. “Was I?”

He glances at you. “You usually talk more.”

“You notice everything now?” you tease.

He exhales a soft laugh. “Only when it’s you.”

You stop walking.

He stops too, instantly—like it’s instinct.

“What?” he asks.

You turn to face him. “You realize how that sounds, right?”

Neteyam opens his mouth. Closes it. The moment stretches.

“That’s not—” he starts, then sighs. “Everyone expects me to look out for you.”

“I know,” you say quietly. “They always have.”

His jaw tightens. “They trust me with you.”

The way he says it feels heavier than it should.

You cross your arms, trying to joke. “Guess I’m in good hands.”

“That’s exactly it,” he says, too quickly. Then softer, “You shouldn’t be.”

Your heart stumbles. “What?”

He looks away, toward the trees. “They think I’m safe. That I’d never—” He stops himself. Swallows. “They don’t see how hard it is sometimes.”

“To do what?” you ask.

“To remember I’m supposed to be,” he says. “Just… a brother. A guardian. Nothing else.”

You take a step closer before you can stop yourself. “And are you?”

He looks back at you then, eyes dark, conflicted. “I don’t know anymore.”

The forest feels too quiet.

“If anyone knew,” you whisper, “they’d think we were doing something wrong.”

“We’re not,” he says immediately. “That’s the worst part.”

Your shoulder brushes his. Neither of you moves away.

After a moment, Neteyam steps back, like he’s forcing himself to breathe. “I should keep my distance.”

You nod, even though it hurts. “Yeah. Probably.”

He hesitates. “But if anyone asks—”

“I know,” you say. “You’re just looking out for me.”

He gives a tight smile. “Always.”

You walk the rest of the way in silence.

Everyone still trusts him with you.

And now you know exactly why that trust is dangerous.