“It’s just a piece,” she says. “I’m not touching the new one.”
“It is poison,” I say, dropping my voice lower. “You should not keep it near your skin.”
Her lips part, pulling my attention.
“Rakkh… I’m a botanist. I’ve dealt with many types of things. I am not fragile.”
“You are human,” I say, stepping closer without thought. “Your bodies are not built for unknown metals.”
“And yours is?” she shoots back.
I open my mouth to retort, then stop because she is right.
We know nothing about this alloy. Nothing about why it glowed beneath her touch. Nothing about why the creature seemed to focus on her.
Before I speak, Travnyk says quietly from behind us, “It is listening to you.”
Lia freezes. “What?”
“The metal,” Travnyk continues, gesturing with his blade. “It resonates. To your voice. Your heat. Something in its memory stirs when you are near.”
My tail twitches in irritation.
“You should have told me this earlier,” I say softly, trying not to growl.
Travnyk tilts his head, unbothered. “I wished to be certain.”
“Certain of what?” Lia asks.
“That it recognizes you,” Travnyk says simply. “And only you.”
Her breath catches. My claws flex. A cold, unwelcome thought snakes through my mind:
Why her? Why only her?
She slips the shard into her pouch anyway, jaw set.
“I have to keep it,” she says. “It might be the only clue we have.”
I want to argue. I want to snatch it from her hand. I want to crush it before it can respond to her again.
“Stay close,” I say stiffly.
“You keep saying that,” she exhales, frustrated.
“And you keep needing to be reminded,” I snap.
The words come out rougher than I mean. She stares, eyes bright in the moonlight—the same moonlight that sketches every edgeof her face, her jaw, the line of her throat. I should not notice these things. I should not feel heat curl through me as she looks at me like she wants to argue and lean in at the same time.
“Can you stop staring at each other and maybe… keep an eye on the sand? Just a suggestion,” Tomas groans.
Lia jerks away from me, clearing her throat. Heat floods her scent. She’s embarrassed and I’m furious at Tomas for noticing.
“We need to keep going,” she says.
We walk in uncomfortable silence until we crest another dune. The world widens into pale waves of sand stretching out beneath the moon. No wind, no beast calls, no shifting sand. Dead quiet. It makes my senses tingle with warning.
“Rakkh,” Travnyk whispers.
