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“We should go. Combat drills start in an hour,” Adora murmurs reluctantly.
She disentangles herself and Catra shivers from the cold damp air inside the Fright Zone’s duct.
“I wish we didn’t have to go,” she says, gazing into the blonde’s eyes.
And it’s not because she doesn’t like the hard drills. She coasts through them these days, having learned how to get away with others doing most of the work. She used to love them – the exhilaration of a challenge, of a chance to show what she’s capable of. But it was made clear to her that there wasn’t really a point in trying too hard – Shadow Weaver would never be happy with anyone surpassing her special pupil and she’d make sure that Catra always remembered just how much worse than Adora she really was, in every way possible. What’s worse, sometimes even Adora would act like this is how it’s supposed to be, like she’s supposed to be better and Catra can’t be as good as her. Can’t be good enough for her.
The real reason why she doesn’t want to leave their secret spot in the ducts is because she now realizes all of that isn’t true.
Out there, back in the gloomy corridors and shadowy barracks, among the other cadets and Horde soldiers they will have to pretend. That they don’t feel about each other the way they allow themselves to feel here, the way she now knows they both feel because Adora admitted she does too.
She’ll never forget that fateful night. Having to remain out of sight after getting a really bad injury. Adora’s face in the dim duct light gaunt with worry. The warmth of her caring embrace, the tenderness of her soothing touches keeping the world of her misery at bay. The murmured words she couldn’t believe she allowed to slip out. And how her world changed when Adora looked at her with that bewildered goofy expression and said that she loved her too. If Shadow Weaver knew, she’d make sure to put a stop to it - to not allow Adora to get distracted, to care about something other than the destiny the old witch had planned for her. She would not allow Catra to jeopardize her future in any way.
“I wish we didn’t have to go too,” Adora says, and there’s a profound longing gleaming in her eyes.
And just like that.
The Whispering Woods shimmer all around them, its rustling leaves full of weird magic fireflies and the warm night air thick with smells and noises she never knew existed. An eerie soft magical glow is everywhere and it makes Adora’s ponytail gleam as it swings with her steady gait. It all doesn’t seem threatening somehow. Not at all like they were told it would be, not the way she imagined. She never imagined she would be here. She never thought she would really run away from the Horde.
Sneaking out of the barracks after stealing Kyle’s ration bar stash – Adora insisted on writing him an apology note, adding parting messages for Rogelio and Lonnie too. They couldn’t risk it, couldn’t tell them in person they were going without knowing there was something that could make them want to go too. But if they could do it, maybe someday those three would be able as well, if they want, right? Not that it bothers her, or whatever.
Getting past Fright Zone’s defenses was a breeze – all the obscure passages and shadowy catwalks they knew like the back of their hands concealed their quiet flight. The most nerve wrecking part was actually one that was the most uneventful - the trip across the patch of wasteland outside of Fright Zone where every noise, every seemingly shifting night shadow was making them think someone had come to get them back. But no one did.
And here they are. Walking out into a clearing on top of a hill overlooking a view of a sea of treetops and the path ahead of them.
“Where would we go from here?” Catra scans the horizon.
“I think we could go to Brightmoon,” Adora says and Catra’s brows crawl up.
Their last medical established that Adora wasn’t, after all, brain damaged. Supposedly.
Adora rolls her eyes, knowing exactly what her look is for and gives a playful nudge to her shoulder. “I know it’s the enemy headquarters. But I’m figuring we’re going to run into Rebellion sooner or later – why not introduce ourselves instead of getting captured? To make a good impression and help convince them we’re not with the Horde anymore.”
It’s a risky plan. Things could go wrong. But the alternative is having to hide forever in a whole world they apparently know nothing about, hiding both from the Rebellion and from the Horde. Eliminating one part of that equation is a reasonable strategy. Not to mention…
“That would make Shadow Weaver sooooo pissed,” Catra smirks with pleased glee.
“Yeah, it would,” Adora nods, agreeing. But a hint of wistful sadness on her face doesn’t escape Catra’s eyes.
If this was before, she would’ve been hurt. She would’ve thought Adora likes Shadow Weaver more and is having second thoughts if she did the right thing - because doing it for Catra isn’t worth it.
But Adora has chosen her. The old sorceress and the glorious destiny didn’t stand a chance against the fact that Adora wanted to be with her, wanted to be able to feel the way she felt about her. She wanted that more. She wanted her more. And that was what Catra really wanted. So she knows her wistful look is not regret. Catra has some of that same sadness herself, even if she doesn’t want to admit it – somewhere deep, deep inside she knows she still has some care left for the person who was the closest thing they had to a mother.
Maybe just a little.
“Okay. Let’s not look back,” Catra says and takes Adora’s hand.
Her touch is soft, inquiring. Adora meets her eyes and laces their fingers together, squeezing back, assuring. Their path is set. Their future is out there. And it’s together.