I’m not being dramatic. Itliterally splits.Right down the middle. Chet’s arm goes limp like a wet noodle, and he just sort of stands there, staring, as half the counter collapses beneath them.
Marla shrieks. Someone’s coffee flies into the air.
“Okay! That’s enough!” I yell, grabbing Kursk’s arm before he decides to finish Chet off with a salt shaker.
Kursk doesn’t move. He juststaresat Chet, cold and calm. “You are unworthy of her.”
Chet opens his mouth, then closes it. He’s gone pale.
I drag Kursk toward the exit.
“We’re leaving now. No more public feats of strength, please. You can bench-press a mountain later.”
“But he insulted your honor.”
“Yeah, well, so do bad Yelp reviews. Doesn’t mean I level the restaurant.”
We get back to the cabin just as the sun starts dipping below the treeline.
Kursk hasn’t said much. Which isweird,because he usually doesn’t shut up about honor, vengeance, and the superiority of raw elk meat. But now? Quiet. Brooding.
I toss the groceries on the counter and pull off my jacket. “Okay, look. I get it. You don’t like Chet.Idon’t like Chet. But you can’t just snap furniture and walk out of diners. We’re trying to keep a low profile.”
“I apologize.”
The words come out of nowhere.
I blink. “Wait. Really?”
He nods. “You are right. My temper shamed us both.”
I stare at him.
Then I start laughing.
Hard.
I lean on the counter, wheezing.
“I’m sorry,” I say between gasps. “It’s just—youapologizing? You, who roared at a ceiling fan and declared it a ‘sky demon?’”
“It hummed at me in a hostile tone.”
I snort. “Yeah, that’s called electricity.”
He tilts his head. “Your world is full of invisible spirits.”
“Tell me about it.”
I don’t know when we started standing this close.
One second, I’m reaching for a glass of water.
The next, he’s only inches away.
Too big for the kitchen.
His presence hums in the air, something ancient and wild and strange—and yet, grounded. Safe.
