“I just—” I swallow hard. “I can’t.”
It costs me to admit it. To acknowledge that my body can’t do what my will demands. That I’m not strong enough.
Luke’s expression doesn’t change, but something softens in his eyes.
“Alright. We find shelter.”
“But we need to keep moving. We need to—”
“We need to rest.” His tone is final. “Pushing past your limits now means you won’t be able to move at all tomorrow. That helps no one.”
He’s right. I know he’s right.
But accepting it feels like defeat.
Luke scans our surroundings, then points to a shallow overhang carved into the hillside.
“There. It’ll give us protection from the wind.”
I follow him to the shelter, barely deep enough to be called a cave, but defensible. Concealed. Better than nothing.
I sink down immediately, too exhausted to care about comfort. My entire body aches in ways I’ve never experienced. Muscles I didn’t know I had announce themselves with every breath.
Luke drops his pack and starts gathering materials for a fire. Dry branches. Kindling. Flint and steel from his survival kit.
I watch him work, mesmerized by the efficiency of his movements. The way he coaxes flame from nothing using mundane tools. The patience required to wait for fire instead of commanding it.
Sparks catch. Smoke curls upward. Flames begin to grow.
The fire is small—nothing compared to dragon flame—but it’s warmth. Human warmth, earned through effort instead of magic.
“How long?” I ask.
“For what?”
“The fire. To actually give heat.” I give a convulsive shiver. Now that we’ve stopped moving, it feels like the chill has soaked into my bones.
Luke glances at me, something unreadable crossing his face. “Few minutes.”
A few minutes. An eternity.
He settles across from me, adding wood to the growing flames. The firelight catches in his eyes, makes them molten copper despite the brown.
“You did well today,” he says quietly.
“I slowed us down.” I hate myself for it.
“You kept moving on a twisted ankle through terrain that would challenge most dragons.” His voice is matter-of-fact. “That’s not weak.”
I want to believe him. Want to accept that maybe surviving is enough.
But the hollow space in my chest says otherwise.
The hollow space in my chest reminds me of Mara. How we left her.
“Do you think she’s really dead?” I say abruptly.
He’s silent for a moment, then, “Yes.”
