These days, she’s always at the forefront of my mind, pushing her instinctual urges forward and offering them up like they’re valid suggestions and comments.
I refuse to indulge in my thoughts again, so I shoot to my feet and hastily gather dry kindling to start the fire.
Up in the mountain range, everything is damp. Moss grows on anything that stands still for too long. Frack, even the roof of the bunkhouse has turned a slimy green.
I take a while to get the rut-damned twigs to ignite, but soon a healthy flame flickers to life and the heat grows. I feed it larger pieces of wood, this time from a stash of dried logs at the back of the kitchen tent.
A few days ago, Blaze dragged two logs from the forest to use as seats as we sit around the fire at night. I settle onto the log closest to the pots, and rake the glowing goals into a bed for the pots to sit on.
Since the chase and the squad’s radio silence on the matter, I’ve begun performing my own little experiments.Somethinghappened when I spoke during O-space. My words suddenly held a power that made others comply.
I sprinkle little requests into my daily interactions and see how they respond. Most of the time, there is no discernible difference in their behavior. However, a handful of times, that familiar swell of authority settles on my shoulders.
“Come sit with me,”I say with attempted conviction, searching for the same assured tenor to my words that echoed in the forest last week.
I’m tired and a little spacey, so I don’t expect it to work, but then Knox does something unexpected.
He sits beside me.
It worked. A humming weight sits on my shoulders before disappearing with a tingle.
I don’t know what this skill is, or if he even noticed what I did, but I’m fast becoming enamored with my new covert power.
If this is how I can save The Omega Division and my Omega family, then I’m going to work hard to master it. Dazz, Ember, and Flicker don’t know they’re in danger, and I’d like to keep it that way. I’ll use whatever advantage I can muster to protect them.
He positions himself with his knees spread wide and his hands dangling between, seemingly comfortable being so close to me, despite actively avoiding proximity for an entire week.
I peer through my eyelashes at him.Frack,his hands look massive. He keeps them covered in black fingerless gloves, and I’m slightly obsessed with the need to see them off. Blinking rapidly, I focus back on the coals.
Knox looks my way and I realize I’ve stopped poking the coals, the stick hovering in mid-air as I daydream about how our fingers would fit together.
“Coals are looking good, Omega,” Knox says, and a shiver races through me at his compliment. There’s something extra special about a positive Knox comment. Receiving approval and praise from the stiff Prime Alpha makes me feel like I’m the only thing he’s thinking about in the entire world. It’s addicting. If I am honest with myself, I push myself harder every day in the hopes of his praise. Sometimes even an appreciative raise of his eyebrow is enough to make me grin to myself like a goofball.
“I think they’re hot enough now,” I say as I avert my eyes away from him. The fire’s growing brighter as the wood crackles and hisses. I pick up the larger of the two pots and set it atop the coal bed I created. It takes me a few attempts to balance it, and after a while, the metal becomes too hot for me to hold. I snap my hand back and shove my fingers into my mouth to cool the sting.
I feel his intense scrutiny as he watches me closely. His eyes take on a hooded, half-lidded predatory glint. They watch my mouth as I pull my two fingers out with a pop. His gaze flicks away, and the look is gone.
Knox points at the cooking pot. “Add the food before it gets too hot.”
Five packets of stew are deposited and swirled together to make a mush of questionable meat and vegetables.
“What even is this?” I mutter to myself, squinting in the fading light to read the packaging.
Knox takes the package from me and shakes his head. “You don’t want to know. Trust me.”
I swallow and nod.
He picks up the stirring spoon and slowly mixes the concoction. “Now boil the water.”
Water?
Oh! The water he made me collect.
I need to boil it to purify it, just like I’d have to if we were in a survival situation. The frustration from earlier now feels juvenile. I still haven’t learned that no matter how spiteful his orders sound, he usually has a good reason.
I tip the five canteens into a kettle and place it onto the coals next to the stew.
We sit in silence, and I track the coiling smoke as it drifts up into the night sky. The stars are popping out, and the temperature is steadily dropping. I curl my arms around my belly and rub my upper arms. Even with the fire, the bite of cold nighttime mountain air nips at my extremities.
