Chapter 14 - - .
The man’s face twisted in confusion. "En...gish?"
She blinked. "English," she repeated, slower, enunciating every syllable.
He stared blankly.
A silence passed between them—long enough for the absurdity to sink in. Kaya wasn’t exactly a scholar, but she knew basic words like glue or pen were universal. Hell, even kids used those words without thinking. But this man looked like he was hearing them for the first time.
"Okay, uh... glue," she tried again, this time miming with her fingers. "You know, like... something sticky? You use it to, I don’t know—stick these plastic ears on your head or something? Some kind of liquid?"
The man blinked at her hand movements, then looked up at his own ears. A moment later, as if realizing what she was implying, his face flushed red. He covered his ear self-consciously and gave a firm shake of his head, muttering something under his breath.
"Hah"
Kaya didn’t want to speak anymore. Her head throbbed, and she rubbed her temple in frustration. Just thinking about those so-called "ears" or "eyes" made her feel like she was teetering on the edge of madness. Without saying a word, she sat on the stone in front of the man and took a deep breath, closing her eyes slightly to steady herself.
The man’s gaze shifted to her leg. After a moment of silence, he spoke, his tone hesitant.
"Um... did you maybe sprain your leg?"
Kaya’s eyes opened, slightly surprised. She stared at him. He could tell—just from one glance?
"...Yeah, I did," she admitted softly.
The man studied her leg a bit longer, then spoke again. "It doesn’t look great. Would you mind if I checked it?"
Kaya hesitated, her eyes narrowing just slightly as she looked at him. What caught her off guard was that his eyes had been quietly observing her leg—not with judgment, but with concern. From the moment she walked in until now, she had never shown the slightest hint of discomfort. She had walked normally, sat normally. No one—not even a trained soldier—would have suspected anything was wrong.
And don’t question her acting skills. In the military, she had masked wounds far worse than this without flinching.
Yet somehow, this man had noticed. Just like that.
After a long pause, she finally gave a small nod.
"...Go on."
Hearing her permission, it was as if a miniature star had lit up in the man’s eyes. He smiled—bright and childlike—then quickly climbed down from the rock and bent at her feet. But just as his hand reached halfway, he froze. His eyes flicked from Kaya’s leg... to her face... then wandered around them.
Kaya stayed quiet at first, watching him with faint curiosity. But as she observed him looking around like a lost child, her expression cracked.
"What happened? Did you change your mind?" she asked, half-exasperated.
The man blinked, flustered. His face turned crimson, and he shook his head frantically, like a panicked child caught doing something wrong. "No—no! I, uh... you’re..."
Kaya narrowed her eyes, already irritated. "Stop stuttering."
He lowered his head, fiddling awkwardly with his fingers before muttering, "Um... where your mate might be, I need his permission."
That made Kaya pause. She stared at him, brows drawing together.
"...What?"
The man, as if he were stating the most obvious thing in the world, nodded and answered with complete sincerity. "You know... your mate , I should ask him for permission to touch your feet."
"Mate?"
Kaya blinked, the word hanging awkwardly between them. She tilted her head slightly, trying to piece together what the man meant—until it clicked.
Oh. Mate as in spouse. Partner. Life partner.
The scumbag she had shot earlier that very morning.
The realization landed with a strange sort of heaviness in her chest. Not grief—no, not that—but something... odd. Amusement? Absurdity?
Just this morning, she had been someone’s wife. And now? A widow. A murderer.
A killer with a wedding ring still warm on her finger.
The irony settled in her gut like a bitter drink. She let it sit there for a moment before a slow, crooked smile stretched across her face. Her eyes found the man’s again—he was still staring, expectant and unbothered, like the word "mate" was sacred. Like her answer mattered.
"I killed him," she said plainly.
There. No sugar-coating.
She watched his face closely, waiting—no, hoping—for something. A flicker of disgust. A step back in fear. A judgmental scowl. In modern times, you shoot your husband, and you’re a walking headline, a monster, a sinner unforgivable even by gods.
And this man? This man who looked like he’d stepped out of a forgotten century, dressed in hides and speaking like the word "mate" was a sacred bond? Surely he would flinch.
But he didn’t. And somehow, that was the most unsettling part of all.
After a pause, the man finally spoke, his voice soft but steady, like a stream cutting through stone.
"He must have done something wrong."
Kaya blinked.
Huh?
The word slipped from her lips before she could stop it, not in disbelief—but in stunned confusion. That sentence, so simple, so gentle, rattled something in her. Not because it was dramatic. Not because it was filled with pity or rage. But because it was the first time someone—anyone—had looked at her and not started with judgment.
No gasps. No wide-eyed accusations. No whispered labels like psycho, cold, monster.
Just... a sentence. A truth offered without demand.
For years, people had only ever seen the act.
The blood. The body. The headlines.
Not the nights she spent curled up, shaking from the bruises.
Not the whispers in the dark, threats disguised as sweet nothings.
Not the silence she swallowed until it became her only language.
They never asked her why. They never wanted to.
But this man—this wild, ancient-looking stranger with hide on his shoulders and dirt under his nails—he didn’t even flinch. He didn’t demand an explanation. He just knew. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was just decent in the quiet way people used to be before the world got too loud.
Kaya exhaled, slow and shaky, her usual armor of sarcasm and bitterness cracking at the edges.
"Yeah..." she muttered, almost to herself, "he did."
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