He had barely spoken since Tomas’ death, but the gleam of curiosity was creeping back into his golden-brown eyes.
"Find anything interesting?" she asked.
Lewis traced a broad leaf with his fingers. "Suddenly, my gardens feel underwhelming. I mean, look at this place."
She sensed his attempt at levity, but his voice was hollow. His forced smile didn’t reach his eyes.
"Your gardens are magnificent," she reassured.
He scoffed, glancing at the deadly beauty around them. "At least they’ve never killed anyone."
Vivienne cringed. He was shouldering guilt he had no reason to bear. “What happened wasn’t your fault,” she consoled, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Lewis flinched away from her touch.
Vivienne buried the sting of rejection.He’s hurting, that’s all.
"I should check if Dr. Mercer needs help," he muttered and walked away without looking back.
Vivienne let him go, arms crossing over her chest as she scanned the clearing. Crews bustled about—setting up a makeshift kitchen, sorting supplies, distributing water skins and food packets. She joined the line, exhaustion making each step feel heavier.
While the crew rested, officers began organizing camp. Dr. Mercer pointed out a nearby stream for refilling water, while Commander Thorne and Gus coordinated the layout of tents.
Vivienne studied the commander as he worked. Unlike the king, the chancellor, or even her father, Thorne’s authority wasn’t built on fear. His orders were met with obedience not because of intimidation but respect. Well, except for when he threatened to gut Cirrus, that had felt more like a promise of justice than an idle threat.
The camp slowly took shape. Cirrus supervised a sailor rigging a canvas canopy. When he caught her eye, he grinned and motioned her over.
Lifting her pack was torture, but she managed to trudge across the clearing. “It’s something, isn’t it?” Cirrus motioned to the surrounding rainforest.
"It sure is," Vivienne panted. "Something hot and humid and—wait, how are you not sweating?"
While she was drenched, every strand of hair sticking to her skin, Cirrus barely looked unfazed. Flushed, but far from suffering.
He smirked. "I've been here a time or two. Maybe I'm acclimating faster."
“Got any secrets to accelerate that?” Her voice was more plea than question.
Mischief gleamed in his ice-blue eyes. “Would you like me to…acclimateyou?”
She narrowed her eyes.How does he turn everything into flirting?
"I don’t think Commander Thorne would appreciate anyacclimating," she shot back.
Cirrus groaned, rolling his eyes. "That mother hen can mind his own business."
Vivienne bit back a laugh at the image of Thorne clucking at Cirrus.
* * *
Night settled over the camp,the rainforest humming with life. Insects droned in the heavy air, distant birds called to each other, and something rustled in the undergrowth. A faint floral scent drifted on the breeze.
Vivienne lay on her bedroll, staring at the slivers of sky visible through the canopy. Tiredness tugged at her, but sleep felt impossible. She had never slept outdoors, let alone surrounded by so many people.
The sound of another bedroll rustling nearby drew her attention. Cirrus had set up no more than five feet away. Propping her head on her arm, she flashed a snarky glare. “Can I help you?”
Cirrus stretched out, his ice-blue eyes flicking between hers and her lips. “I don’t know, Banns—can you?” he purred.
The heavy scrape of boots sounded behind them. Commander Thorne stood with his bedroll under one arm. With a snap, he unfurled it between them, his tight, forced smile at Cirrus steeped in unspoken warning.
