CHAPTER 228: CHAPTER-228

Startled, she glanced down—and froze.

Veer’s hand was clamped firmly around her wrist. His grip wasn’t weak or trembling like one would expect from a sick man; it was strong, steady... almost possessive.

Her brows drew together. Did he wake up?

Leaning closer, she whispered, "What? You want something?"

But Veer’s eyes remained closed. His breathing was slow and even, completely unchanged, the steady rhythm of someone deep in sleep. He wasn’t awake. He hadn’t heard her.

Kaya looked back at her wrist, her expression shifting into disbelief. He’s still asleep... then why...

It might have been a reflex, she reasoned. His body clinging to something warm without knowing. That had to be it.

Resolute, she tried to pry his fingers away one by one. But as soon as she pulled at his hand, she realized just how tightly he was holding her. His grip was like iron. No matter how much she tugged, she couldn’t move a single finger away from her wrist.

Her jaw tightened. Seriously? Even unconscious, he still has this much strength?

She gave another attempt, twisting her wrist carefully, trying not to wake him. But his hold only seemed to tighten, as if his body instinctively resisted her leaving.

Kaya stilled, her eyes narrowing on his face.

He was peaceful, completely unaware, his lashes resting against pale skin, his lips parted slightly in slumber. There was no sign of struggle, no sign of awareness—yet his hand refused to let her go.

For a brief second, a strange weight pressed in her chest. What exactly are you clinging to, Veer?

For the last ten minutes, Kaya had tried everything.

She pinched his hand. Nothing.

She pried at his fingers until her nails dug into her own skin. Still nothing.

She even shook his shoulder, whispering harshly for him to wake up. But Veer didn’t stir, not even the faintest twitch of his eyelids.

Her wrist ached under his grip, a faint redness blooming where his fingers pressed down like iron shackles. Kaya’s patience was slipping.

Her gaze darted around the room, searching—anything that could help. And then her eyes landed on it.

The knife.

Nestled in the small pocket of her arm strap, its wooden hilt peeking out, like a dangerous invitation.

A thought flickered in her mind—quick, ruthless. If I stab the blade between his fingers, even shallowly, the pain would make him flinch. He’d let go.

Her hand twitched toward it.

But then she froze.

The image of that fat, old monster—Veer’s father—flashed before her eyes. His burning hatred, his threats. This was his territory. If she dared so much as scratch his son, even unintentionally, who knew what punishment he’d unleash?

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her breathing sharp. Damn it... I can’t risk it. Not here. Not with all of them watching my every move.

Her knife-hand dropped back against her thigh, trembling slightly from the restraint.

She looked back at Veer’s sleeping face, his grip still unyielding, and a bitter whisper slipped from her lips.

"...You really are a trouble, aren’t you?"

Suddenly, an idea flickered through Kaya’s mind. The kind of idea she would normally laugh off—or curse herself for even thinking. She almost pulled her hand away, dismissing it as idiotic.

But then her gaze sharpened. Her eyes glinted with a faint crimson, her skin carrying that subtle glow she could never hide when her emotions ran high. None of her attempts had worked. No amount of pulling, prying, or even pinching had loosened Veer’s grip.

So... why not try this foolish plan?

She leaned closer, so close that the warmth of his breath brushed her cheek. Her lips hovered near his ear, and in a voice far too soft, far too unlike her usual blunt tone, she whispered,

"Uh... Veer... I’m hungry. Can I go? My hand, please?"

The words slipped out like honey, and instantly Kaya cringed inside. Her skin prickled in embarrassment. She never talked like this. Never.

Yet—like some bewitched husband responding in his sleep—Veer’s fingers slowly loosened.

Kaya blinked in disbelief. For a moment, she just stared at his hand releasing hers, stunned that it had actually worked. She carefully slid her wrist free, rubbing the red marks his grip had left on her skin.

Her chest rose and fell sharply, and she muttered under her breath, half-annoyed, half-shaken.

"...Really? That’s all it took?"

When she looked down at him again, her annoyance faltered. Veer was lying there, calm, almost innocent, his face buried against the pillow. Yet the faint ache along her wrist and the heat flushing across her chest reminded her just how much brute strength had been in that "gentle" hold.

Kaya sighed, pressing her lips together, then carefully adjusted the pillow under his head.

"Idiot," she whispered.

But her hand lingered a little too long before she pulled away.

.

.

Kaya sat at the stone-carved table, her eyes wandering over the spread laid out before her. For a moment, she just stared. Then her stomach turned.

Maybe she had grown too used to being spoiled by Veer and even little Cutie, who always made sure her meals were cooked, warm, and—above all—normal. Maybe she had forgotten where she was. Forgotten that this was still a wild place, where survival mattered more than flavor.

Her gaze landed first on a bowl filled with pale, bloated silkworms, their skins splitting slightly from being boiled. Steam curled lazily upward, carrying with it a faint, earthy tang that made her throat tighten. The mere thought of biting into one—its insides bursting on her tongue—made bile rise up.

Beside it sat a slab of raw meat, brownish and streaked with something Kaya couldn’t quite identify. The smell was strong, musky, the kind that clung to the back of the throat and refused to leave. She had no idea what animal it came from. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.

But it was the third bowl that nearly broke her. Nestled inside, gleaming under the dim cave light, was a scorpion. Whole. Its curled tail still intact, its shell shining as if daring her to try.