I blinked. “I did?”
“Yes. Eventually, we agreed on a foot rub, braiding my hair should I ever require it, breakfast, specifically bacon, and a promise to teach me a dance.”
I stared at him in horror.
“A dance?” I repeated faintly.
“One called the Macarena, if I recall.”
I burst out laughing, mortification momentarily overridden by sheer disbelief.
“And you agreed to that?”
“Trust me,” he replied dryly, “if I had not, you would still be awake and under the influence.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face.
“Fair enough.” Then a new horror hit me. “Aster.”
His expression changed to a hint of annoyance.
“You will find the Minotaur has had very little sleep. He spent the night just outside my tent, in fact.”
Of course he did.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “We really didn’t mean to cause this much trouble.”
“You didn’t,” Theron said calmly. “Though you did attempt to explain the Macarena at length.”
I groaned.
“I’m shutting up now.”
He smirked, clearly enjoying my suffering, but before I could sink fully into the mattress and disappear forever, his gaze caught on something else.
My wrists.
He reached out, fingers closing gently but firmly around one, drawing my hand closer as his thumb traced the pale scars there with quiet curiosity.
“What is this?” he asked.
I tensed but didn’t pull away.
“The Rift,” I said quietly. “The day it opened in my world. I was close to it.”
“And you were affected how?”
I swallowed. “Atlas believes I’m the key.”
He pushed himself up to sitting, eyes focused solely on me.
“The key to what exactly?” I swallowed hard and wondered if I was saying too much. But in the end, Theron had given us more reasons to trust him than not, and besides, we may need his help again someday. And it was clear the guy valued honesty above all else.
“The Rift itself.”
Disbelief flickered across his face.
“Go on.”
