“You needed them.”
Such a simple answer. Like keeping these things for a complete stranger he just saved is just obvious logic.
I swallow hard and focus on lacing up the boots. The familiar weight of them grounds me. Makes me feel almost human againinstead of a half-broken thing in borrowed clothes. Then I reach into my bag for my power cable and plug my phone into the power bank. It takes a few seconds for the battery icon to flicker on, but pretty soon the screen flashes to life.
“Hallelujah!” I feel jubilant, but then my hopes fade as I realize that there’s not a single bar of signal. Of course there isn’t. We’re in the middle of the mountains, miles from civilization; what did I expect? I pull up my gallery folder and scroll through the last images I took before the accident. A strange sense of déjà vu strikes me. When I glance up, K is staring at my hand, brow furrowed.
“What is that?”
“Footage I took before we went down,” I say, turning to show him the screen. “This is Ember.” I tap her image with my fingertip and the short video streams; she grins and looks out the window. “Just before we went down.” I swallow hard.
His eyes fix on the video, then flick to my face. “Magic.” He practically breathes the word.
“I know. I’m pretty good with the camera, if I say so myself.” I keep scrolling.
He’s staring. “Are you… a sorceress?”
“What?” I blink at him.
“Witch,” he says.
“What are you talking about, K?”
“You have… magic.” He points at the phone.
Oh, hell no. He can’t be serious.
“Cut it out. You’re being weird.”
“Weird? You have… people in that thing.”
“I don’t have people in—” I stop. “This is the kind of technology we use in cities, K. I’m guessing you don’t leave your village much.” Or at all.
“No,” he says, still staring at my phone. I power it off and pack it in my bag.
“I’m ready to go now,” I announce, testing my weight on my feet. This isn’t the time to be educating rural amnesiacs about the miracle of high definition.
K’s expression doesn’t change, but I see the slight tension in his shoulders. “You should rest longer.”
“I’ve rested for two days. I can’t stay in this cave forever, K.” I stand carefully, boots solid beneath me. “Besides, we need to figure out how to get me back to civilization. And you…” I pause, meeting his eyes. “You need to figure out where you belong. Sitting here doesn’t help either of us.”
For a long moment, he just looks at me. Then: “If you tire—”
“I’ll tell you.” I lie smoothly. “Promise.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m regretting every confident word.
My legs burn. My chest aches with a deep, grinding throb that suggests the crushing damage wasn’t as healed as I’d like to believe. Each breath comes shorter than the last, and the trail—barely visible between pine trees and granite outcrops—keeps climbing.
K walks beside me, silent. Watching. I pretend not to notice.
The morning is crisp, cold enough that my breath fogs. Sunlight filters through branches overhead, dappling the path. In another context, this would be beautiful. Peaceful, even. The kind of landscape I’d film for my channel with some dramatic voiceover about ancient mysteries and unexplored wilderness.
Instead, I’m focused on putting one foot in front of the other without face-planting.
“The terrain levels ahead,” K says quietly. “Then descends toward the valley.”
I nod, saving my breath.
