He expects to be caught. Zuko knows his own luck too well to believe otherwise.
But he expects palace guards or the city watch, not—her. He curses himself for not remembering the waterbender's name.
For the space of a breath, neither moves. She stares at him, loose curls catching the breeze, eyes brimming with loathing. The only thing heavier than her hatred is his conscience.
Her rage doesn't pass, but her shock does, and her glare hardens. Even before she begins to move, he anticipates the attack.
He will not fight her. That part of his life is past.
Katara is grateful for the Fire Nation's oppressive humidity. She summons twin waterwhips from the sky.
Zuko doesn't attack. In fact, he hardly moves. If she didn't know better, Katara would almost believe that there is remorse in his eyes.
He bows, forehead brushing the ground. "I can't fight you anymore."
For an instant, she think he means the eclipse—that he can't fight without his bending.
But the last word stops her.
Anymore.
There is no time to question what he means. She flies back into battle.
But when he finds them at the temple, she begins to wonder.