If he notices the shift in my voice, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
We pack in silence. The easy companionship from yesterday gone. Replaced by tension thick enough to choke on.
I pull on my boots, yanking laces tight enough to hurt. Check my phone and cracked iPad in my messenger bag to check they’re still there. The zipper catches. I force it. It catches again.
“Goddammit,” I mutter under my breath.
K’s movements stop. I feel his attention shift toward me even though he doesn’t speak.
I yank the zipper hard enough that the fabric tears slightly. Don’t care. Just need to get out of this shelter, away from the space where he kissed me and then looked at me like I was something he needed to scrape off.
I roll up the cloak he lent me—still warm from my body—and cross to where he’s standing. Hold it out without meeting his eyes.
“Keep it. You will need it,” he says, brushing it away. Our fingers don’t touch.
I don’t answer. Don’t argue either. Just jam the garment into my bag and curse the fact that he’s probably right.
The fire dies while we work. Gray light bleeds through the shelter entrance, making everything feel cold and unwelcoming.
Perfect metaphor.
K finishes first. Stands at the entrance, back rigid, waiting.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and follow him out into the morning.
The wind bites immediately. I hunch into the oversized vest, wishing for the warmth I had when he was carrying me. When things were simple, and I could pretend the heat in my chest was just gratitude.
Before he kissed me and ruined everything.
Before I kissed him back like I had the right to.
Chapter 10
K.
I cannot stop thinking about the kiss.
Each step up the mountain path, the guilt hammers harder. What possessed me? She is hurt. Vulnerable. Under my protection. And I took advantage of her in the worst possible way.
Though did I?
The rationalization arrives unbidden. I was asleep. Dreaming. I had no conscious awareness of what I was doing.
The excuse feels hollow.
I knew enough to pull her close. To kiss her with desperate hunger. To touch her face with tenderness that came from somewhere I can’t access.
Which means some part of me was aware. Some fragment of consciousness guided my actions even if my waking mind was absent.
And if I was aware enough to act, I should have been aware enough to stop.
Behind me, Mara stumbles. The scuff of boots on loose stone, a sharp intake of breath.
I stop. Turn. My hand lifts, instinct demanding I steady her, keep her safe.
She catches herself on a boulder, knuckles white against gray stone. Won’t look at me.
My hand falls.
