Thirty minutes in, Luke calls a halt. “How’s the ankle?”
“Fine,” I lie.
He turns, one eyebrow raised. Even in darkness, I can see the skepticism.
“It’s manageable,” I amend.
“That’s not the same as fine.” He scans our surroundings, then points to a fallen log. “Sit. Five minutes. Let me take a look.”
I sink down gratefully, unlacing my boot. My ankle is swollen, the skin mottled purple and blue, visible even in the darkness.
Luke crouches in front of me, his hands closing around my ankle with professional detachment. Warm hands. Dragon-warm, even if his dragon won’t shift.
The contact sends awareness racing up my leg that has nothing to do with pain.
“Swelling’s increased,” he says after a moment. “We need to wrap this tighter.”
He produces medical supplies from his pack, efficient, prepared for everything. His fingers are gentle as he straps the ankle, securing it firmly.
I watch his face while he works. The concentration. The economy of movement. The way he’s completely unbothered by our proximity, by the intimacy of his hands on my skin.
He’s beautiful, I realize. Not soft—nothing about Luke is soft—but in the way that strong men can be beautiful.
The thought should embarrass me. Instead, it just settles warm and strange in my chest.
“There.” He sits back. “That should hold.”
“Thank you.” My voice is hoarse.
He nods once, then stands. Offers his hand to help me up.
I take it without thinking. His palm is warm and solid against mine, and for a second, we’re standing too close. His eyes meet mine in the darkness, and my breath catches.
Then he releases me and steps back with careful deliberation.
“We keep moving,” he says. “But slower pace. Tell me if the ankle gets worse.”
We walk for another hour. The climb grows steeper, the cold seeping deeper into bones that have never known it. My breath comes in white clouds. My fingers go numb inside Luke’s coat.
The weakness terrifies me more than the cold.
I’ve never been weak before. Inexperienced, yes. Naive… no doubt about it. But I’ve never felt my body fail. Never understood what it meant to be limited by flesh and bone instead of fueled by fire.
Now I’m learning.
And I hate every second of it.
The terrain becomes brutal: loose shale and exposed rock that would be easy to navigate with wings, impossible on foot in darkness. Luke picks our path with caution, testing each foothold before committing his weight.
I follow, trying to match his movements. My ankle screams with every step. My legs shake. Exhaustion drags at me like an undertow.
God. I can’t take any more!
My lungs feel seared. Muscles on fire.
“Luke.” My voice comes out ragged. “I need… to stop.”
He turns immediately, reading something in my face. “How bad?”
