It isn’t indifference. It’s vigilance. For me.
I chew at the inside of my cheek, fighting the urge to break the quiet. Words feel clumsy, like they’d shatter something fragile and real. Still, a part of me aches to hear his voice again, rough and steady, cutting through the storm the way it had when Joran ran his mouth.
Instead, I listen.
The canyon smells different the deeper we go. Less sand and old stone, more of something sharp and tangy. A trickle of water glints from a crack in the wall, running down into a shallow pool no larger than my palm. I stop, crouching, and touch the damp rock. Cool. Real. A shock of life where there shouldn’t be any.
When I glance up, he’s watching. His head tilts, the faintest flick of his tail betraying approval. His acknowledgment makes my chest squeeze tighter than hunger ever could. I swallow hard, standing, and brush grit from my fingers.
“I… almost missed it.”
His eyes don’t leave mine. He doesn’t need to say what he’s thinking. But you didn’t.
I quickly turn, heat rising onto my cheeks, and pretend to study the canyon walls. My stomach growls, sharp in the silence, andI wince. The sound feels too loud between us. When I risk a glance, he isn’t mocking. He shifts his weight, scanning upward where the rock splits into jagged shelves. His gaze lingers on a cluster of pale pods clinging high to the stone, translucent enough to pulse with faint light.
Food. Maybe.
I follow his gaze, biting my lip. The climb looks treacherous—shelves brittle, edges sharp—but I don’t say it out loud. He knows already. I see it in the tight set of his jaw.
We stand there, shoulder to shoulder, both staring at the pods. The hunger between us sharpens into something more complicated. Something that has nothing to do with fruit.
I slide my knife into its sheath and test the rock face with my palms. The stone crumbles under my touch, powdering to grit, but some of the jagged shelves hold firm. The pods hang maybe thirty feet up—too far to reach without climbing.
“I’ll go,” I whisper.
His gaze cuts to me. A slow shake of his head.
“I can,” I press, jaw tight. “I’m lighter. If the stone breaks, I’m less likely to bring it down with me.”
He studies me, scars stark in the moon and starlight. I think he’ll refuse again, but instead he turns to the wall, testing the lower handholds with claws that scrape sparks against the stone. He means to climb too.
Of course he does.
My pulse hammers as I grab the first hold, hauling myself upward. My arms burn quick, the bandaged one screaming withevery pull, but I grit my teeth and keep going. Once I’m a short way up he follows, moving slower, lochaber strapped across his back. He climbs like the canyon itself makes space for him, deliberate and sure.
Halfway up, my boot slips on a slick patch of stone. My stomach lurches. Fingers claw for a grip, nails breaking. Before I fall, a strong hand clamps around my ankle and steadies me. His grip is iron, anchoring me back into place. I breathe out hard, nodding even though he can’t see my face.
“Thanks,” I whisper into the stone.
I keep going.
The pods glow brighter as I near them, their skins thin and pulsing faintly. They look edible—but so had the last cactus fruit that steamed poison into the air. My knife slides free and I cut one loose. The pod drops heavy into the cloth pouch tied at my hip.
A crack echoes.
I freeze. The shelf beneath his hand gives way in a spray of grit. For a heartbeat his claws scramble for a grip, his weight dragging him back.
“No—”
I move before I think, bracing my foot against a narrow spur and thrusting my arm downward. My fingers catch the strap holding his lochaber. The sudden weight jerks me off balance, but I manage to hold on. My arm wrenches, pain blazing through the venom-scarred flesh, but I grit my teeth and hold.
His body stills, muscles coiling. He regains a new grip with one clawed hand, then another, pulling himself back into the climb.
Only when he’s steady again do I release the strap, my chest heaving.
His head tips up. His eyes—black, fathomless—lock on mine. For once, there’s no hiding what I see in them. A flicker of surprise. And something more, something raw.
My stomach twists, heat flaring sharper than the ache in my arm. I saved him. Me.
