It took Tristan a while to realize what was happening. Matt was cross-referencing, double-checking Colby’s story.
His mouth dried. Hewantedto believe he hadn’t said anything that contradicted Colby. But so much of his time at Cale’s camp had turned into a blur, one he didn’t want to look at closely in case it came back into focus. What if he’d gotten something wrong?
“Tell me again how Williams came to escape with you,” Matt said. “Exactly what you said. What he said.”
Tristan swallowed and repeated it all. Every word he could remember. It felt like standing in court, trying to defend someone he didn’t really know but wanted to trust with his whole heart.
When Matt finally let him go, it was with a nod and a quiet, “Thanks.”
Tristan stood, but didn’t move for the door. His hands were tangled together in front of him. “What do you think about Colby now?”
Matt’s expression didn’t shift. “I think I’m still assessing him. When I’ve made up my mind, I’ll let you know.”
Which was fair. And entirely unhelpful.
Tristan nodded and turned for the door. He didn’t ask if he could go see Colby, because Matt might say no, and he needed to see him.
He’d simply go without permission. And if anyone called him on it, well—he’d pretend he didn’t know better.
COLBY
Late in the evening, Urban came to the stall. Colby stood when the door opened, his mouth dry, thinking this was his moment of reckoning. Instead, Urban gave him warm food and some more water.
As Colby held onto the plate, Urban studied him. It was as if he were taking him apart, atom by atom, and weighing each in turn.
“You said you couldn’t leave Tristan in danger,” he said at last. His voice was almost conversational. “Why?”
Colby’s fingers tightened on the edges of the plate. Maybe this was his chance to make his case for mercy, to make himself sound good and noble, better than he was. But the truth spilled out, in quiet, ashamed words. “He didn’t deserve what they’d do to him.”
Urban studied him a while longer before speaking. “And you think you did?”
Colby sucked in a sharp breath, blindsided by the question. He had no idea what Urban meant by it, so he said nothing. He ran the risk of being seen as disrespectful by doing so, but hehadno answer.
Urban turned on his heel and left, bolting the door behind him.
Colby sank down onto the straw bale and realized there was silverware on the plate, along with a generous helping of roasted chicken and scalloped potatoes. He sat with the plate on his lap, holding onto the warmth, wondering if it meant anything at all.
Chapter Fourteen
COLBY
Later, Colby was still wide awake. The barn was still. Even the sounds of horses methodically chewing hay had stopped as the night had deepened, a chill in the air making it clear that fall was here and meant business.
He might have countered the temperature by shifting and curling up in wolf form. No one had told him he couldn’t, and he should have felt safer that way, with more weapons to protect himself. But somehow, he didn’t want to lose this form, in which he’d had that moment with Tristan. A moment like he thought he’d never have again, filled with hope and promise and brightness.
So instead, he curled up awkwardly on the straw bale. It was uncomfortable and itchy, but better than the chill of the concrete floor.
Bryce had come for him earlier, offering him a quick trip to a bathroom. Despite the kindness of the toothbrush waiting for him, Bryce hadn’t said a word beyond what was necessary, andColby didn’t know what to make of any of it. There’d been no sign of Tristan, however hard he’d looked.
He wrapped his arms tighter around himself and thought of Tristan, of the way his smile lit not only his face but whatever room he was in, and the curiosity in his eyes. Especially when he looked at Colby, like he wanted to know every part of him.
The barn door creaked, and light spilled through the slats. He sat up, tense until he recognized the tread. Even though he’d only heard it a handful of times, he knew it instantly. Tristan was here.
He was fumbling with the stall door more than Colby would have expected, and when it finally swung open, Colby could see the reason—he had a dark green comforter in his arms that he was trying desperately to hold onto while it made a bid for freedom, all without dropping the phone he held as a flashlight.
“Hey,” Tristan said, his voice muffled by the comforter. Then his head poked up over it. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Colby confessed.
