So’lek knew the moment he returned that she would smell it.

The sharp sting of metal clung to him—oil, smoke, the wrongness of the sky people soaked into his skin despite the rain, despite the leaves he dragged himself through to strip it away. The forest accepted him back in pieces, but scent was honest. It told truths even silence could not hide.

Her reaction was immediate.

Not anger—something colder. Her nose wrinkled, shoulders tightening as she turned away just enough to make the distance felt. This smell was not merely unpleasant; it was memory. Burning ground. Broken songs. A reminder of everything that did not belong on Pandora.

So’lek stopped where he stood. “I had no choice,” he said quietly, already pulling away the gear that carried the stench. “They were too close to the river.”

She did not answer. She didn’t need to. The way she scrubbed her hands against her thighs, the way she avoided his touch, spoke clearly enough.

“I will cleanse,” he added, softer now. “I will not bring it to you.”

Only then did she look back at him—eyes sharp, hurt layered beneath concern. The bond between them did not break, but it strained, stretched thin by a world that kept forcing him to walk where he did not belong.

So’lek turned toward the water, jaw set.

If he had to carry the sky people on his skin, he would not let them touch what was his.