“Sleep well?”
“Don’t.”
He grins. That stupid, beautiful, infuriating grin that makes my chest do things it has no business doing at this hour.
Malrik appears on my other side. Says nothing. Just smirks.
I sigh loudly enough to echo off the stone walls.
“I hate all of you.”
“No you don’t,” Finn says cheerfully.
He’s right. I don’t. That’s the worst part.
Bob drifts alongside me, posture radiating silent judgment. Even my shadows think I’m being dramatic.
The path out of Japti winds upward through tunnels I don’t remember from the way in. Kieran leads, because of course he does. The rest of us follow in a loose cluster that’s less “tactical formation” and more “barely conscious stumbling.”
Behind us:thump… thump… thump…
I turn to look.
Kieran is dragging Callum.
Not carrying.Dragging. On a makeshift sled of bound wood and vines used as rope, padded with—
I squint.
Is that the moss from the hot spring ledge?
It is. It absolutely is. The same soft, green moss that was under my back while Finn—
Nope. Not thinking about that right now.
Definitely not a keepsake anymore,I decide firmly.I don’t want souvenirs that smell like unconscious traitor and male bonding sweat.
Aspen catches me looking and straightens with obvious pride. “The runners distribute weight evenly across uneven terrain. Should hold for the full climb.”
“I carried the frame,” Torric adds, because he can’t let his brother have anything without commentary.
“I supervised,” Darian mutters. The Eds are still clustered around him — dozens of them clinging to his shoulders, drifting in lazy orbits around his head. He’s stopped trying to shake them off. One of them keeps bumping against his ear like an affectionate, shadowy gnat.
Kieran says nothing. Just keeps dragging Callum with the grim determination of a man who refuses to acknowledge he has feelings about any of this.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The sound follows us up the stairs like a heartbeat.
We emerge from Japti’s entrance into cold, gray dawn.
The mountain rises ahead of us — massive, jagged, wreathed in mist that clings to the peaks like it’s trying to hide something. The path forward is narrow, carved into the stone at an angle that makes my stomach clench just looking at it.
This is going to be a very long week.
“So,” Darian says, clearing his throat. “We should discuss what to expect.”
Nobody responds.
